


rhythm & blues

by JaneKerkovich



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, frat! niall, r&b star! zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneKerkovich/pseuds/JaneKerkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn thinks being a college freshman with an English major and a boyfriend in a frat is enough for him  -- until he loses a bet, loses The X-Factor and loses Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rhythm & blues

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in one day as a one off 5k just to get it off my mind, having no idea it would end up spanning eleven months, two continents and approximately ten thousand rewrites, but here we are. I have to give my eternal gratitude to [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/pseuds/icecreamsocialist) who was forced to deal with my unrelenting WhatsApp messages and deserves pictures of Zayn wearing skinny jeans forever. Thank you to [Any](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdf/pseuds/cmdf) who pretty much made me finish this even when I didn't want to. Also shout out to RamFam for being the greatest parliament of owls a girl could ask for and without whom this would most certainly not exist. 
> 
> Also if you're into mixes, you can listen to one [here](http://8tracks.com/catastrophes/rhythm-blues)

It all starts as a bet.

_Track 1_

Zayn meets Niall the first week of freshman year at some party at one of the frat houses. They’re all huddled around a small table covered with a bunch of cards and a can of beer, playing a weird version of Kings, and Zayn’s barely speaking because it’s so loud and hot and he’s surrounded by new people and unfamiliar faces and he’s afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll pass out, or worse, say something stupid. He’s way past tipsy and a little overwhelmed, but he supposes that’s what college is all about, so he just goes with it, lets the stench of cheap beer and sweat consume him, lets the soundtrack be whatever shitty dubstep song is blasting. He’s jammed between the couch’s armrest on one side and Niall on the other, and it’s not comfortable, but it’s okay for now. He thinks he remembers Liam introducing them, and since Liam is his roommate, and Zayn likes Liam, with his crinkly eyes and inability to slow down when he tells a story, so Zayn instantly decides he likes Niall too.

And maybe Niall laughs a little too loud and sits a little too close to Zayn, but he likes it. He likes that someone isn’t assuming his silence is a wall or a challenge, but just something about him. Just a part of who he is. He likes that Niall’s face is flushed red from the alcohol, and that every other word out if his mouth is a “fuck” or “shit.” He likes that Niall keeps hitting his arm, yelling “Zayn, look!” as he tries to shotgun a beer, and he likes that Niall doesn’t even apologize when most of the alcohol sprays all over Zayn, instead chokes on a mixture of laughter and beer before escaping from the couch to go hunt for paper towels.

And later when Niall returns with a dishtowel from the kitchen and he hands it to Zayn, and Zayn somehow manages to joke, “There had to be an easier way to get me out my clothes,” Niall’s eyes brighten before he tips his head back and laughs and laughs and Zayn thinks, _yes_ , he definitely likes him.

-

They kiss two weeks later. Niall has weed and Zayn likes weed and Zayn likes Nial, so it’s really a no-brainer. Niall invites him up to his room, says he doesn’t like smoking alone, and Zayn has to laugh because that’s usually how he prefers it, but he’s in no position to turn down free pot, especially when there’s a cute guy on the other end of it. He makes the trek across campus to Niall’s dorm, smiles when he sees the mess of clothes and books on the floor and a guitar stashed in the corner. Niall grunts out a “sorry” as he half-heartedly attempts to kick some laundry under his bed and hands Zayn his laptop.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to listen to Michael Buble, so just, like, put on whatever, you have way better taste than me,” he says, ducking his head to hide the way his cheeks begin to blush.

Zayn grins and pulls up an R&B playlist and joins Niall on his bed. They face one another, sitting cross-legged, and Niall goes first, has Zayn light the bowl for him, and then exhales out of the window, watching the smoke disappear into the night. When Niall hands it over and lights it for him, Zayn suddenly becomes conscious of how close they are and how quiet it is. Niall, who usually never stops talking, is strangely silent for once, just watching him with an inscrutable gaze, and Zayn is incredibly grateful for the rush of cold air when he sticks his head out the window, the room suddenly too hot.

He ducks back in and Niall’s still just looking at him, and he realizes The Weeknd’s playing and maybe Michael Buble wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, he’d probably not suddenly have the urge to reach out and touch the strip of skin peeking out between Niall’s shirt and shorts. But Niall’s already taking another hit and Zayn can’t take his eyes off his lips, the way they fit around the piece and the way the smoke escapes from them. He welcomes the distraction as Niall hands the bowl back to him, focuses on the embers burning and the smell that’s starting to envelop the room. He closes his eyes, feels the burn down the back of his throat, the coolness in the night against his cheek that lets him know autumn is on its way. He takes a deep breath and he feels it starting to hit him, the familiar buzz pooling within his bones. He can handle this.

He pulls back in and Niall’s eyes are already bloodshot when he asks if he wants to shotgun, and Zayn nods slowly, realizing that just when he thinks he’s found his bearings, he’s back in over his head. Niall takes a hit and then leans over as Zayn wets and opens his lips, closing his eyes in preparation. He can feel Niall’s body near his, their knees touching, and Zayn feels the heat of it burning up his entire leg. He’s frozen in place and there’s a moment of confusion where he wonders what’s taking so long that leaves him wholly unprepared for when Niall grabs his face with both hands and pushes their lips together. He splutters on a mix of surprise and smoke, coughing on curses as Niall falls back onto the bed in laughter. Zayn grips the window frame, trying to breathe in as much fresh air as possible, not only clear his lungs, but also his brain. He ducks his head back inside and leans against the headboard opposite from Niall, who’s still laying on the bed choking slightly on laughter.

“What’d ya do that for?” Zayn lets out, when he finally feels like he’s gained control over his breathing.

Niall’s looking at him through hooded eyelids with a lopsided grin and it’s all too, too much, like staring into the sun, and Zayn has to close his eyes just to handle it. “I just wanted to see what would happen if I tried it,” he mumbles.

“What, kill me?” Zayn opens one eye at him; he thinks that maybe he can handle that, wonders if they make sunglasses specifically just to look at people who are too bright to be contained indoors. His clothes feel too tight and the room is still so hot and everything feels so off kilter. He's unable get his mind straight.

Niall sighs and it’s so, so quiet, even though there’s music playing, and Zayn can’t tell if his heart is beating too fast or too slow. 

“Kiss you,” Niall answers simply.

Zayn swallows and lets the word sink in; it takes a few moments for it all to make sense, and he’s so comfortable on this bed and the music is beating through his veins and Niall’s staring at him and he doesn’t know if he can move from this spot, thinks staring back at Niall for all eternity sounds pretty good. But now Niall’s biting his lip and something stirs in Zayn’s stomach and well, fuck it.

“Try again,” Zayn demands, and Niall pushes himself up on his elbows.

“Really?” he asks, and Zayn nods. Niall crawls over to the edge of the bed where Zayn is sitting, slides in between his legs and brings his head inches from his face.

“Yeah?” Niall asks, and it’s one word and it’s probably all Niall can manage in his state and it could mean anything, but now Zayn can feel the gears shifting into place, everything starting to come into focus. He can feel Niall’s breath on his face and his body is burning heat into the sides of his legs and everything finally makes sense, he thinks.

“Yeah.”

Their lips connect and all Zayn can wonder is why he hasn't been doing this his whole life.

-

Being with Niall is easy and simple in a way that nothing else in Zayn’s life is. He thought getting into college would’ve been the answer to all of questions, thought high school would’ve been the end to all his insecurities, but he spends half of his intro classes doodling down the sides of his notebook, wondering what it’s all for.

He _likes_ his English major well enough, he supposes, likes the way he can get so deep into a book that when’s done reading it, he feels lost for a few hours afterward. Likes the challenge of transforming feelings into words, trying to get everything onto paper before it evaporates like smoke in his hands. 

But he doesn’t _love_ it. He knows that because he knows what he loves. He loves the sound of his sisters whispers before they finally fall asleep at night, he loves the way a comic book smells after he’s unwrapped it for the first time, and he quickly realizes he loves the way Niall can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes before mindlessly tapping beats out on whatever surface is closest (eventually it almost always ends up being Zayn’s shoulder or thigh).

So maybe what he’s doing in college doesn’t really make sense to him, but there are a lot of parts of the whole experience that do.

Zayn’s never wanted to be the center of attention, so he has no problem that Niall is the one who attempts (and, more often than not, fails) keg stands, or gets into legitimate arguments over 80s hair metal bands in the middle of parties. Zayn never would’ve even been at the party in the first place if not for Niall’s insistence, but he really doesn’t mind it as much when Niall’s standing there beside him, hand on the small of his back, encouraging Zayn with warm eyes and a soft “go on” to tell the story about his first plane ride that made Niall snort milk out his nose the first time he heard it. 

Soon Zayn realizes he’s not the only one that benefits. He starts to notice that after Niall tells a joke in a crowded room, he’s always the first person he looks at, as if Zayn’s opinion is the only one that matters.

Niall decides to join a fraternity and he’s always dragging Zayn to the parties even though Zayn has no intention of rushing. It always inevitably ends up with Niall being harassed into playing another round of flip cup (it’s ridiculous how good he is at the game) while Zayn sits in a corner, making awkward small talk with some kid that probably only got in because he’s a legacy. Niall’s constantly meeting brothers and bringing them over and introducing them to Zayn, as if he’s asking for his approval, and finally one night Zayn asks him, “Why does it matter so much if I like these people?”

And Niall shrugs, playing with the tab on his beer can. “You’re a good judge of character. I know you don’t waste your time on people who aren’t worth it.”

Niall’s new brothers end up being fine enough, Zayn supposes. They usually put Zayn in charge of music, which ends up opening up a whole new world, because instead of having to have the 10-minute “Where are you from? What’s your major?” conversation with whoever gets stuck next to him, he can drunkenly talk to them about Drake’s entire discography, eyes wide and hands animated, while Niall watches amused from across the room.

-

Every so often Niall will drink too much and Zayn knows it because Niall’s likely insisting on a piggy back ride and/or a wrestling match, and Zayn will have to put his arm over his shoulders and gently drag him back to his room and sit on the bathroom floor as Niall promises over and over again, “No, I’m serious this time, Z, I’m serious I’m never drinking again, oh God--”.

And Zayn will tuck him into his sheets and leave a glass of water and two advil on the nightstand and then sneak out to go back to his room, knowing it will all be worth it when he hears a knock on his door at 6 AM and it’s Niall looking completely worse for wear. Zayn will grab his hand and drag him into bed, and Niall will snuggle n close and whisper thank yous in between kisses to Zayn’s neck.

But sometimes it’s Zayn who goes overboard and Niall knows it because Zayn gets all touchy feely, stroking Niall’s cheeks in between trying to squeeze his nipples and slap his ass. Niall will have to drag a giggling mass back to his room because there’s no way they’ll be able to traverse through the mess of comic books and paint brushes covering Zayn’s floor in this state. In the morning, when Zayn realizes he’s in Niall’s bed, he’ll groan before the hangover even hits him because he knows if he’s not in his own room he must’ve been a mess and he promises to buy Niall an extra serving of waffles when they get up.

-

It’s not all easy. Zayn never dated anyone in high school, so his sexuality wasn’t so much a secret as something that no one bothered to ever ask about. So while he never denies the fact that he and Niall are dating, and it’s hardly a secret to anyone who knows either of them, it’s not like he’s going to bring it up either.

He gets assigned to a group project in his intro econ class, and when he meets up with the rest of group at the library, he notices the giant Greek letters of “Kappa Sigma” on one of the guy’s sweatshirts. It’s Niall’s fraternity, and even though Zayn doesn’t say anything, the guy’s eyes flash with recognition. 

“Hey, you went to a couple of rush parties?”

Zayn nods while continuing to fish through his backpack for a pen. When he looks up again, the guy’s still staring at him.

“You didn’t pledge though, right? But you’re still at the house a lot?” He's confused, as opposed to accusatory. 

“I’m friends with Niall,” Zayn says quickly, without thinking, and the guy’s eyes brighten, but before he can say anything else, the girl next to him in the group is assigning parts and Zayn forgets the exchange even happened.

At least until a few days later, when he meets up with Niall for dinner. Niall’s twirling a piece of spaghetti around his fork when he asks, without looking up from his plate, “Hey, why’d you tell Bressie we were just friends?”

“What? Who?” Zayn doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Niall finally gets the pasta around his fork and looks up at him in an effort to be casual. “Bressie. He’s one of my brothers. Said you guys are working on a group project together or something.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, so?”

Niall shrugs. “Just thought it was weird you told him we were friends, that’s all.”

“Well, you know how frat guys can be…”

Niall laughs without an emotion behind it. “Yeah, well considering I’m one of those, I would hope so.” 

“You know what I mean,” Zayn snaps back, but Niall just crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. 

“No, I don’t think I do.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Zayn murmurs after a few moments, wishing he could shrink deeper into the already too-big hoodie he’s wearing that he stole from Niall’s dresser a few weeks ago. 

“Zayn, you don’t have to apologize,” Niall sighs as he pushes his plate away. “I just wanna know if you’re embarrassed or--"

“I’m not embarrassed.” Zayn sits up suddenly. He needs to make this clear. “Not at all. I just… I dunno, I just feel like it’s private.” Niall tilts his head in confusion, and Zayn plays with one of the cuffs on his hoodie, trying to pick his words carefully. “It’s not anyone else’s business. I don’t think it’s a big deal but other people might make it a big deal and I just don’t want to have to worry about that. I dunno.”

Zayn’s still not sure if he’s making sense, but from the way Niall looks visibly relieved, he’s pretty sure he gets it. He always does.

-

Zayn think that his favorite moments are the ones where they just lie there, Zayn running his fingers through Niall’s hair, listening to him ramble on about his aspirations to be a guitar player, and how he wanted to major in music but his parents had insisted on at least doing music business. Zayn likes to listen, likes to imagine Niall up onstage with a guitar and the smile that he only gets when he’s talking about something he’s really passionate about plastered on his face.

One time Niall asks Zayn about what he wants to be and Zayn answers, “an English teacher, ‘spose.” 

Niall lifts his head off Zayn’s chest to look him in the eye and Zayn whines at the lack of contact. “Come on, when you were a little kid, what did you imagine you’d be when you grew up?”

Zayn smiles and shrugs. He hasn’t forgotten the hours he’d spent locked in the bathroom (it was the only place he could find privacy when he was younger), practicing Michael Jackson songs into the mirror, imagining what it’d be like to be on stage singing in front of thousands of people who think he's amazing. But no one’s really heard him besides his parents and his sisters, and he figures they’re obligated to tell him he's amazing at everything he tries. Zayn thinks being a teacher isn’t that bad. Besides, he’s too old for rock star fantasies now.

-

Often when it’s nice out they’ll sit in the quad, Zayn’s back against a tree with Niall’s head in his lap, and Niall will talk about how he really needs to get to class, but it’s such a great day out, and it’s really not worth it go inside when it’s so beautiful. Zayn will let out a small “tsk” when Niall officially decides to skip class, but to be fair, he doesn’t really want Niall to leave either.

This time Niall’s complaining about the boring book they’re reading in his English lecture, and when he mentions it’s Heart of Darkness, Zayn perks up.

“I’ve read that,” he states, and Niall looks up at Zayn quizzically.

“Really? And it sucked, right?”

But Zayn gives a lopsided smile and starts to explain symbolism and colonialism and chiaroscuro, and eventually Niall sits up and goes, “Shit, I didn’t even think… You know, you’re going to make an awesome English teacher someday,” and Zayn smiles because he thinks that might just be enough.

_Track 2_

One night when it’s first starting to get cold, as they huddle together for warmth on the way back from some random house party, Niall drunkenly starts singing a Katy Perry song. He’s loud and out of tune and Zayn’s laughing so hard he’s not sure if his stomach hurts from that or the alcohol.

“C’mon Z!” Niall shouts, and Zayn lets out a giggle he would be embarrassed about if he weren’t trashed out of his mind. Niall starts up again, tripping over himself in the process, and Zayn has to grab him before he hits the ground. Then Zayn takes a deep breath and starts to harmonize as best he can to whatever he thinks Niall is doing. All of a sudden, Niall stops dead in his tracks, and Zayn looks back in concern. 

“Are you okay?”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?”

Zayn’s drunk enough to laugh at how serious Niall 's suddenly become. “What, was that good?”

Niall shakes his head in disbelief. “That was fucking incredible.”

Niall can’t see Zayn’s blush in the darkness, and he certainly can’t feel the spark that ignites deep in Zayn’s gut.

-

Sometimes they’ll sit in Niall’s room and Zayn will riff while Niall fiddles around on the guitar and it’s silly and fun and easy and yet fits so well, and together they sound better than they do apart, and it’s the type of metaphor for their relationship Zayn could only dream about writing.

-

They’re stuck at the library one night during mid terms, Niall trying to finish a paper on _Twelfth Night_ while Zayn scribbles into the table. They’ve been there for what like seems like hours, in Zayn’s mind, and all Niall’s managed to do is rewrite his thesis statement four times and groan repeatedly.

Niall mutters a string of curses as he flips through the book trying to find a quote, and Zayn looks up from carving a Bob Marley quote into the wood. “Dude, I wrote an essay on it in 11th grade, I probably have it saved somewhere, you can just use that.”

Niall looks up from the book in concern. “I’m not just gonna hand in your essay.”

“You don’t have to hand in my exact essay, you can change the words around or something,” Zayn shrugs before going back to finishing the “e” he was in the middle of scribbling.

But Niall keeps staring at him. “I don’t just wanna turn in your essay. I want to do it myself, I wanna earn it.”

“Suit yourself,” Zayn says with a roll of his eyes and leans back in his chair. “If you wanna pull an all nighter over one dumb paper, be my guest.”

“Sorry we didn’t all take AP English in high school,” Niall mutters under his breath as he goes back to typing. 

“Yeah, well, sorry for trying to be helpful, I won't make that mistake again,” Zayn huffs, his frustration growing. He's sick of staring at fluorescent lighting and beige walls. He just wants to go out behind the soccer field and smoke pot with Niall, not listen to him complain about how he can’t keep Olivia and Viola straight. 

“Stealing your paper isn’t _helpful_. Christ, do you really think I can’t do this on my own?” Niall’s looking at him like he expects an actual answer, but Zayn can’t believe he even just asked him that.

Zayn grabs his backpack and stands up. “Clearly me being here isn’t helpful, call me when you’re done, I guess,” he says over his shoulder, his annoyance melting into actual anger. He can’t even pinpoint why he’s so frustrated at Niall, he just knows he needs to get out of there.

He stomps back to his dorm room, and with every step his irritation dissipates into regret. He thinks he shouldn’t have been so abrupt, thinks he should probably just walk back to the library and apologize, but instead he gets back to his room, kicks off his shoes and lays face down on his bed, hiding his phone under his pillow because he doesn't want to deal with the fact that no new text messages are popping up. 

Zayn falls asleep and wakes up a few hours later when Liam stumbles in and turns on all the lights, letting out a slurred, “Oh, shit, sorry, bro,” as he makes his way to his bed.

“‘S fine,” Zayn mumbles while sitting up a bit, rubbing at his eyes and feeling for his phone. When he squints at the time, he notices a missed call from Niall, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved that at least Niall tried to call him or upset he missed it. 

It only rings twice before Niall answers. “Hi.”

“Hey, where are you?” Zayn asks.

“What?” Liam calls over his shoulder.

“I’m not talking to you,” Zayn hisses, and then goes back to listening to Niall.

“I just finished. I’m walking home,” Niall tells him. 

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.” Then Zayn pauses. “If that’s okay?”

He hears Niall sigh on the other end of the line. “Yeah.”

“Okay, see you in a second,” Zayn tells him, trying to ignore the fact that Niall hung up without responding. 

As Zayn gets out of bed and starts putting on his shoes, Liam looks over and smirks at him. “Ah, booty call? Nice.”

“What? No.” Zayn grabs his coat and heads to the door. “Is it even a booty call if it’s your boyfriend?”

Liam looks mystified for a moment and sits down on the bed to think about it. “I dunno,” he admits. “Does it?”

“Drink some water,” Zayn orders as he shuts the door.

Halfway to Niall’s, he gets a text that only says _rooms unlocked_ , and only then does Zayn realize how quickly his heart’s been beating since he left.

When he opens the door to Niall’s room, the first thing he notices is that all the lights are off, and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust and to find Niall laying on his bed, the only light coming from him scrolling through his phone. 

“Is your roommate here?” Zayn asks as he lingers by the door.

“Nah, he’s still out,” Niall says, not looking up from his phone. Zayn thinks he’s never seen Niall so unresponsive before, and he realizes how quickly they’ve found themselves in uncharted waters. 

Zayn remains on the edge of the room, afraid to make a wrong move. “Look, I’m sorry…” he starts.

“For what?” Niall asks, and Zayn gets the sense there’s a right and wrong answer to that question.

“For leaving, I guess. I’m not good at that stuff,” Zayn admits quietly.

“What, like talking?” Niall snaps back in a tone Zayn’s never heard him use before. It’s enough to make Zayn wonder when he so badly lost his bearings, when this situation spun so wildly out of control.

They’re silent for a few moments. He listens to the loud conversation of drunk people walking home come through the window, and then all of a sudden it hits Zayn so clearly, it gives him the confidence to walk closer to the bed.

“You don’t _actually_ think I don’t think you can write that paper, right?” Zayn asks, and Niall doesn’t respond except to sit up, which is enough to get Zayn to walk forward a few more feet. 

“The only reason I offered was because I wanted to hurry up so we could try out the new stuff I got from Danny last weekend,” Zayn explains, then more softly, “I can’t believe you think I feel that way.”

“I know you don’t, ” Niall says looking at the floor. “It’s just hard sometimes being around someone who’s good at everything a lot.”

Zayn actually laughs out loud at that one. “I’m not good at everything, what the hell?”

“‘Course you are. I mean, look at you, for one thing,” Niall says as he motions towards him and Zayn tries to bite down his smile. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re a great artist--”

“Awful at parties, though,” Zayn says as he sits down next to him. “Unlike you, who befriends everyone there within five minutes without even trying.” He can tell they’ve somehow made their way back to solid ground. He can breathe again. 

“I try pretty hard, actually,” Niall says with a laugh, and Zayn’s not sure if he’s kidding or not. “It just takes a little bit longer for people to see how cool you are.”

“I’m not cool,” Zayn protests as he scoots closer to him, wants to say with his mouth what he always has trouble saying with words. He leans over and kisses Niall softly. “You’re way cooler than me,” he murmurs against Niall's lips, and even in the darkness, he can see the brightness of his smile. 

Niall leans in and kisses him again, grabbing Zayn’s shirt in the process and using that to push him down onto the bed. He crawls over, straddling Zayn’s legs and grinding into him as he leans down to leave a mark on Zayn’s neck.

“When’s your roommate getting back?” Zayn asks, strangled, and Niall chuckles as he sits up.

“I dunno, we better make it fast.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, but then Niall’s unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his thighs, rubbing his hand at the bulge growing in his underwear, and Zayn decides he doesn’t really care anymore.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”

-

One night at a party while attempting to find an empty room for a clandestine make out, they stumble across an unopened handle of vodka. The way Niall’s face lights up makes Zayn think he’s probably up to no good.

“Let’s drink all of this before anyone notices,” he says as he inspects the bottle.

Zayn snorts. “There’s no way we can drink this whole thing between the two of us.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “Of course there is. We just need to up the stakes.” He thinks for a moment. “Let’s make a bet. Whoever takes the most shots wins.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Is the bet over which one of us dies first?”

“No, what are the stakes in that?”

Zayn grins and grabs Niall’s face, kissing him quickly, and asks, “Okay, so what are we betting on?”

Niall thinks for a moment, his brows furrowed in as much concentration as his already buzzed brain will allow. Then a mischievous grin crosses his face and Zayn knows for sure he’s up to no good.

“If I win… you have to go audition for X-Factor.”

“Seriously dude, that’s what you’re going with?” Zayn asks as he wrinkles his nose.

“Yep,” Niall answers with a nod.

“Okay, whatever,” Zayn says with a shrug, because at this point the likelihood of either of them remembering the rules of the bet the next morning seem unlikely. Then he grabs Niall’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eyes. “But if I win... you have to do your reading for English when it’s actually due for the next month.”

Niall laughs before he sticks out his hand and they shake on it “Deal. You’re terrible at this. But that’s why I like you”

-

The next morning, while Niall rubs Zayn’s back as he pukes his guts out into the toilet, he whispers to him, “I already printed off the application. Auditions are in three weeks.”

-

Niall wakes up him at 4 AM on the day of the audition and drives the hour and a half to the arena while Zayn sleeps in the car. They sit on the curb outside in a mass of people, only having each other and a cheap blanket Niall had stashed in his trunk for warmth. Zayn’s silent, more so than usual, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he’s actually about to perform in front of people he doesn’t know for the first time (he’s not counting all the times he stood on top of a table and rapped all of “Golddigger” in the middle of a frat party). Niall’s weirdly quiet as well, occasionally pressing kisses to his temple and whispering vaguely inspiring words of encouragement.

He’s worried he won’t even get past the first round, that he’ll freeze up and wont be able to get a note out. Or, worse, that even if he sings the best he’s ever sung, it still won’t be good enough. There are a million different scenarios for how badly this could end running through his head.

But what scares him the most is how much he doesn’t want to go home.

-

First Zayn has to sing in front of some random producers and he totally sees the look they share when he says it’s, “Let Me Love You” by Mario. But he closes his eyes and opens his mouth and tries to pretend he’s just singing in the shower like Niall told him and mostly just does his best not to pass out mid-song. They ask him to stop and he opens his eyes and they look…impressed.

But then they start asking him about his family and who came with him and why he decided to audition and when he answers honestly by saying “uh, my boyfriend made me come because I lost a bet,” the producers share a look again (he hates that these people think they have him all sized up just from the few moments he’s been here) and he think he’s fucked himself over before it even began. He realizes he probably should’ve prepared some sob worthy back-story (he wonders if Niall would be willing to fake a car accident), but before he can beat himself up too much, they producers are nodding at him, telling him he’s going to go perform for the judges and an audience and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s never smiled so hard in his life.

Next thing he knows, they’re waiting in a room backstage for Zayn’s turn in front of the judges. However, the excitement Zayn felt about being able to sing in front of an audience quickly dies down when he realizes he’s going to have to sing in front of an audience. He starts pacing around the room while Niall sits on a couch looking up at him. The adrenaline from his last performance is mixing with the anxiety over this one, and he’s beginning to wonder how badly vomiting on stage would go over.

“You really don’t think you’re going to get it, do you?” Niall asks in amazement.

“What makes you so sure I will?” Zayn snaps back. Apparently his nerves make him cranky.

But Niall just laughs as he gets up from the couch and walks over to where Zayn is probably treading a hole in the carpeting. He grabs him by the shoulders and looks him straight in the eyes.

“Because you’re good, way better than everybody else here, and you deserve it. Just… pretend it’s just us, yeah? That we’re in your room just fucking around and it’s just the two of us and nobody else matters. If you can sing half as well as you do when we do that, there’s no way in hell they wont love you.”

The nausea that Zayn had been feeling settles into slight queasiness, then suddenly there’s a knock on the door telling him 5 minutes, and Niall squeezes his shoulder encouragingly.

“Why did you make me do this?” Zayn asks, his voice shaky. “Why did you pick this for the bet?”

“Because I know deep down this is your dream, and I knew you wouldn’t go for it on your own,” Niall answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and all Zayn can wonder is how Niall knew how much he wanted this if he himself didn’t realize it until, like, 45 minutes ago. “And I want you to be happy.”

Niall brings his hand down to Zayn’s, and then brings it up to his lips for a kiss. He smiles at Zayn and Zayn smiles back and takes a deep breath, and he feels calmer then he’s felt all day, like the hurricane inside him has returned to its regular tide.

When he walks out on stage, the judges ask him a few questions and he’s able to mumble out answers while squinting, trying to adjust to how bright the lights are. Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably only 30 seconds, they ask him to sing. So he closes his eyes, pretends he’s standing in the middle of his dorm room, and starts singing.

He can hear the buzz of the audience and is vaguely aware that Niall is backstage somewhere watching, but mostly all he can feel is a tingle in his body and the sense that this, what he’s doing right now, in this exact moment, is what he should have been doing this whole time. He spent so long avoiding the spotlight and now that it’s finally on him, he can’t believe what he’s been missing. And when he’s finished and the audience cheers, something settles deep down inside of him and he just knows: this is it. This has been it all along.

The spark that had ignited has become a full-blown flame.

The next few minutes are a blur, but of course all of the four judges tell him yes, and of course he’s going to Hollywood. He stumbles off stage, feeling a bit dazed, like he just woke up from a dream and he’s still not sure what’s real life and what’s imaginary. The host is trying to ask him some questions, but Zayn’s too focused on finding Niall. Thankfully he feels him before he sees him, his arms snaking around him in a bone-crushing hug. When he pulls back, the smug grin on Niall’s face is screaming, “I told you so.”

-

He has two weeks before he has to fly out to LA and he spends it filling out the paperwork to take off next semester and relaxing with his sisters, who are already screen printing his face onto shirts, embarrassingly enough.

It also gives him enough free time to sit around and panic. 

Anyone can sing well once or twice, but singing well consistently is a whole other problem. Zayn’s never taken a singing class in his life, can barely perform in front of a crowd without passing out, why in hell does he think he’ll be able to actually compete in a singing competition? But then he remembers how good it felt to impress two people he’d never met before with just his voice, the tingle he felt deep in his bones when he heard the audience's’ applause after he finished, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, all the potential embarrassment and failure will be worth it if he gets to feel that again.

Sometimes he texts Niall at 4 AM, having spent all night turning over in his sheets freaking out, asking what happens if he doesn’t get through, what if after the first round they send him home, and Niall will text back with ur an idiot go 2 bed and it’s only after that Zayn can actually fall asleep. 

But sometimes he wonders if he can even do it without Niall there with him, considering he’s the only reason he got into this mess in the first place. Or even worse, after the initial excitement of being on a TV show wears off, if Niall will be willing to wait until he comes back home again. But these are the questions he’s too afraid to ask.

Track 3

The first thing Zayn notices about Los Angeles when he steps off the plane is that it’s loud and fast and bright, everything that Zayn is not. In the beginning there are so many other contestants there that it’s easy for him to fade into the background, to blend into the mass of talented singers; he wonders if anyone will notice if he just slips out a back door and goes home. But then he hears his named called and stumbles up to the stage, and every time he finishes singing, he feels even better than he did the last time. It’s addictive. The flames are spreading.

At first he spends most of his time waiting, though, sitting in hallways and hotel rooms, killing minutes by doodling on the back of the paper number taped to his shirt, or on the ends of his shoes, or whatever else he can get his hands on. It’s mostly boring, really. He feels lost, set adrift in an unfamiliar city with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. It reminds him a bit of the beginning of college, except for the fact that there’s no blond boy sitting on his bed with a bowl of popcorn and an episode of Breaking Bad waiting for him when he gets home everyday. 

The only thing that tethers him back to reality, a life where he’s not constantly being filmed or referred to as a number instead of his name, are his nightly phone calls to Niall. He listens as Niall recounts the ridiculous tasks he has to undergo while pledging the fraternity, or helps him come up with a topic for his history paper. Sometimes Zayn complains about how he doesn’t know one of the songs they’re making him sing and Niall groans and asks if wolves raised him and then sings it over the phone. On those nights, Zayn leans back in his bed in a hotel room he’s still not entirely comfortable in and closes his eyes and pretends Niall’s singing right next to him, not 3000 miles away. Some days it’s the only thing that keeps him from drowning. 

One night Zayn calls him when he gets out of rehearsal, only when Niall answers he can barely hear him over the roar of noise in the background. He’s able to make out a, “Just a second!” and then a lot more yelling and shuffling.

“Zaaaaaaayn,” Niall finally calls into the phone once it’s quieter

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something.” Zayn’s embarrassed suddenly, because of course Niall’s out, it’s a Friday night.

“No, just at a party at the house tonight, stepped out outside for some fresh - hey get off!” Niall yells, and Zayn’s about to be concerned when he hears Niall finish with a rushed, “Sorry, Bressie’s making me be his pong partner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, loveyoubye!” 

Zayn looks down at the phone to see the call’s already ended, and even though he knows Niall’s been going out, it’s still weird to be so clearly reminded of how life is continuing on without him. He wonders how he can rely so much on Niall to get him through this whole process when it seems like Niall’s doing just fine on his own.

-

Zayn keeps his head down and sings and doesn’t worry about getting on TV or making an impression. He’s polite to the judges when he listens to their feedback and is friendly enough with the other contestants and before he knows it, he’s sitting in a room waiting to be called out to sing for the last time before he finds out if he makes it to the live shows. At first he’s filled with the same anxiety he usually gets before he goes on stage, but the longer he sits on that uncomfortable couch, his eyes going over the pattern on the wallpaper again and again, the more his concern grows. He can feel it bubbling in his stomach as he waits and waits, and he shoots off a text to Niall in the hopes that any type of contact with him will be able to calm him down. After a few minutes of staring at his phone but getting no response, he jumps up off the couch and starts pacing around the room, dialing Niall’s number with shaky hands. He just needs to talk to him.

Halfway through the first ring Zayn remembers Niall has class right now (he still has trouble adjusting to the three hour time difference), but he listens through till the message anyway, taking a small amount of comfort in the, “Hey, it’s Nialler, leave a message! Or just text me, like a normal person.” He ends up calling back three times just to hear the sound of Niall’s voice, and remembers the day he recorded it. They had gotten high and spent three hours trying to perfect a voicemail message, dissolving into fits of giggles while Niall tried different impressions and accents. Eventually they had settled for an incoherent mess of words that Niall was forced to re-record a few weeks later when he missed a call from his mom and she got worried his phone had been stolen.

Zayn smiles at the memory and feels significantly calmer when he hears the knock on the door, and he goes to perform for what may be his last time.

-

The first call he goes to make after he’s found out he’s gotten through to the live shows is to Niall. He finally manages to get his phone out of his pocket, his whole body shaking with excitement, and laughs when he sees he has seven missed calls from him. The first ring isn’t even done when Niall picks up, yelling, “Congratulations!”

“How’d you know?”

“Because if you hadn’t gotten it, you wouldn’t have called in the first place, just sent a vague emo text about how ‘everything happens for a reason and we’re all put on this earth to fulfill a destiny whether or not we know it’ or something.”

Zayn laughs, mostly because it’s true.

The next call he makes is to his Mom, who cries when he tells her, and if he tears up too, he certainly won’t admit. He also won't admit how much he misses her, and her cooking, and his sisters, and his own bed, instead just makes her promise to tell his father as soon he gets home from work and swears that he’ll call her soon.

-

Zayn had been so focused on just singing, he hadn’t really thought about what it meant to be a singer. He can’t just worry about his vocal talents any more, because he has to spend every waking moment when he’s not rehearing being interviewed or at a photo shoot. He didn’t even think about marketing, and now he has to fill whatever niche they think will sell. His mentor makes him sing songs he doesn’t like and wear clothes he would never pick out, but he’s just so grateful to be there at all that he doesn’t even mind. It’s exhausting, though, having to be “on” all the time for the cameras and the people constantly surrounding him, and when he has days off he’ll often just sit inside his room, soaking it all in. His journal is filled to the brim with detailed notes and stories, because as tiring as the whole process is, he knows it could come to an end instantly, and he wants to remember every second of it, wants to tattoo the feeling of being on stage performing every week so he can never forget it.

He’s getting better, too. He can feel his confidence growing from the positive feedback he gets after almost every performance, and each week he doesn’t get voted off is just another reminder that maybe his fantasies might turn into reality. It gets to the point where he doesn’t even get nervous so much as excited before he gets on stage, looking forward to the moment when he finishes his last note and he hears the audience’s applause and his heart speeds up a little bit because everything just feels right, for that one second in time. He forgets about all the promo and running around he has do to get to that spot, forgets how much he misses home and the people he left behind in order to get there, just lives for that one instant where everything is just as it should be.

-

“Hey, where are you right now?” Niall asks one day when Zayn’s opening the door to his room after eating lunch.

“I’m just walking into my room,” he answers as he shuts the door. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Niall answers, not at all casually. Zayn shoots a look at the phone even though he knows Niall can’t see.

“Where are you?”

“Lying in bed, just got back from the gym,” Niall answers slowly.

“Um, okay.” Zayn feels like there’s a joke he’s missing.

“So…” Niall starts, “What are you wearing?”

Zayn bursts out laughing before sitting down on the bed. “Wow, real subtle, Ni.”

“Shut up, you weren’t taking the hint and it was this or jacking off in the shower so I went with this, I’m trying to be _nice._ ”

“‘It was this or jacking off in the shower?’ Wow, I didn’t realize I was dating such a romantic. That’s some Keats-level shit right there,” Zayn says, trying to stop from giggling even harder.

“First of all, I don’t even get that reference so I’m ignoring it. Second, fuck off. Third, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m hanging up.”

Zayn bites on his lip to stop from laughing again. He lays down on the bed and closes his eyes, trying to get into the mood. “Okay, sorry. Um, what are you wearing right now?”

“A white tank top,” Niall tells him. Zayn waits for him to continue.

“What, that’s it?” Zayn sputters.

“Yeah, I took off of my pants before I even called you,” Niall admits, and Zayn starts laughing again.

“Shit, let me get on your level then,” says Zayn as he quickly unbuttons and slides off his jeans. He starts rubbing at his cock through his underwear, imagining Niall on the end of the line doing the same thing. He’s starting to get into it when he murmurs, “Wearing that black pair you like so much. Thought of you when I put them on this morning.”

Niall huffs a small laugh through the phone. “Did you think of what we did last time you wore them?”

“You mean sucking me off in the bathroom at that highlighter party? Took me a week to get the orange paint off my thighs, how could I forget?” He finally lets his dick out of his boxers, slowly starts working his hand up and down. “Gonna repay the favor once you get here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall answers, barely above a whimper. He waits for Niall to continue, listening to his ragged breathing through the phone. But he’s impatient, moving his hand faster and tighter around his dick, knowing how spun out Niall is already, so he keeps going.

“Yeah, got this huge jacuzzi thing in the bathroom,” Zayn starts off casually. “Think about you fucking me in it a lot, if I’m being honest.”

“Shit, Z,” Niall practically groans, and Zayn feels like he’s coming undone at the seams, how quickly they’ve gotten here. “Gonna make you come just from the thought of me fucking you.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, breathless and digging his hips into the bed, speeding up his hand and feeling closer to the edge.

“Yeah, keeping touching yourself imagining me inside of you, bending you over the side of it, fucking you underwater, shit,” he can hear that way Niall’s breath hitches, knows he’s as close as Zayn is. 

“Fuck, I miss your dick,” Zayn says in the heat of the moment, instantly regretting it, but instead he hears Niall’s sharp intake of breath and him moaning Zayn’s name as he comes. It’s enough to put Zayn over the edge, and he’s working himself through, watching himself come all over his stomach, imagining that Niall looks as disheveled and tired as Zayn feels. 

Then he hears Niall mutter, “Can’t believe I just got off to ‘Fuck, I miss your dick.’” Zayn finishes by laughing so hard his phone falls out from between his shoulder and his ear.

He grabs it where it’s fallen between the sheets.

“I miss your dick, too, just for the record,” Niall tells him, and Zayn suppresses a laugh into the pillow.

“I miss you,” he answers back, his post-orgasm high replaced by the knowledge that Niall’s still across the country

“Miss you, too,” Niall says softly, “You gotta work on the dirty talk, though.”

-

Zayn gets to the top three and the finals just happen to coincide with spring break and Niall agrees to finally, finally fly out and see him. He’s practically counting down the minutes to his arrival and he’s spent a week planning out all the places in the city to show him and all the touristy things they can do together, but as soon as he spots Niall in the airport, he knows all the plans are out the window. They spend the whole day in bed in Niall’s hotel room, Zayn tracing his fingers over skin for months he’d only been able to dream about. For the first time since entering that city filled with heat and smog, Zayn feels like he can actually breathe.

They’re lying in bed, Zayn running his hands through Niall’s hair gently, when he asks, “So how’s school?”

Niall laughs then buries his head into Zayn’s neck. “You don’t want to hear about that,” he mumbles

“Yes, I do,” Zayn protests, pulling back so he look Niall in the eyes.

“It’s fine,” Niall answers with a shrug. “Sucks without you, but whatever.”

“Who knows, I might be back next semester anyway.”

Niall sits up suddenly. “You know you’re going to win, right?” he asks seriously.

Zayn rolls his eyes, not wanting to give away the fact that he thinks he actually might. But before he can fully protest, Niall’s kissing him again and for a few minutes he sort of forgets he’s even got a TV show to worry about.

-

As soon as he finishes his first performance on the finale, he knows it’s over.

He wasn’t bad, he’s definitely done worse, but he knows instantly it wasn’t enough. The other two contestants are older, and while that may have benefitted Zayn at first by getting him the young teenage girl vote, it means they have been doing this for longer and have a better sense of who they are, both as musicians and people. Zayn only figured out he wanted to sing a few months ago, what kind of singer was something he couldn’t figure out when he had 15 different people trying to decide for him. When one of the judges tells him, “I’m just not sure what kind of artist you want to be,” Zayn can’t really disagree with them.

So he’s not surprised when he comes in third, not really. He’s not even that upset when they interview him backstage, or when everyone says their goodbyes. He just smiles and tells them he’s not giving up and they give him the same sympathetic yet unbelieving nod, and all he can do is feel stupid that he even thought he would be able to win in the first place.

He doesn’t even cry until he’s tucked safely back in his room with Niall, who hasn’t said anything to him since he found him after the show. Niall sits down on the couch and gently pats the spot next to him, and Zayn collapses into it. Niall smiles at him sadly and it’s only then Zayn loses it, tears bubbling forward as he curls himself into Niall, hiding his face in his neck. He’s not sure how long they sit there as he cries, their limbs still intertwined, but eventually he calms down, until all he can hear is his own labored breathing. That’s when Niall whispers, “At least you can come home now.”

The anguish that had finally subsided within him comes roaring back, because all of a sudden Zayn finally realizes that no, no he can’t.

For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, Zayn finally feels like he has it figured out. He loves being able to get up on the stage and sing no matter what other bullshit they’re making him do in order to reach it. He doesn’t think he can give up the way he lives off the audience's reactions, the way the adrenaline starts pumping through his veins right before he starts singing and doesn’t stop until long afterwards. He doesn’t think he can give up the way that for a minute and 30 seconds every week, everything just feels right. There’s a fire burning deep within his chest and he’s not sure he can put it out now.

Going back and being an English teacher isn’t enough anymore. It never really was.

He must wait too long to respond, because all of a sudden Niall lets out a small laugh, like he can’t believe how dumb he was. “You’re not coming back, are you?” he asks quietly.

Zayn shakes his head slowly, still not sure if he’s entirely wrapped his mind around what he’s doing right now. What this will all mean.

Niall pulls back, his eyes cast down. They both know the question to the answer they’re too afraid to ask. 

“This is my dream, you know?” Zayn says quietly. 

Niall smiles sadly. “I know, and I would never – like, I want this for you, you have no idea. Zayn, you’re so insanely talented, I know you’re going to get big and trust me I’m going to tell everyone I know that I dated you before you got famous, “ he jokes, and Zayn tries to smile at that, but he’s sure it looks more maniacal and strained than anything. He rubs his knuckles along Niall’s cheek as he continues. “But, we’re young and it’s your dream and I’m just… I’m not a part of it.” 

Zayn doesn’t bother trying to explain how much Niall is a part of it, how much he’s inextricably tied himself to it that he’s not sure if it’s actually his dream anymore if Niall’s not there. He doesn’t think he has the words. 

“I have to go home,” Niall says; it seems as much to himself as to Zayn. Zayn knows his actual chances of success are slim to none and if he were even half as smart as he thinks he is, he would get on that plane and go home and finish school. But he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not done yet, that there’s more for him out here, and he just needs to keep looking for it. What he can’t stand is knowing that Niall can’t be a part of it. 

Zayn wakes up the next morning to Niall pressing kisses around his mouth, and he rolls over, burying his face in Niall’s neck. “Let me sleep,” he mumbles.

“Gotta go to the airport, I’ll miss my flight,” Niall tells him softly, and suddenly Zayn’s much more awake, paralyzed with sadness. It takes him a few moments to breathe Niall in, memorize his smell and the way he feels pressed up against his chest. He’s not sure when he’ll get the chance again.

The car to the airport is silent, until Zayn asks, “What were we going to to do if I won?”

Niall looks away from the window to look at Zayn. “What?”

“If I won I would’ve had to stay out here anyway,” Zayn says, smiling a bit because it seems too obvious now, and the only alternative to that is to cry. 

Niall’s confusion turns to amusement as he barks out a laugh. “Guess we didn’t think that far ahead,” he says ruefully. 

“We never did,” Zayn says softly.

-

They stand in the airport, fingers intertwined, waiting for the last possible moment before Niall has to leave.

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” Zayn finally admits, but Niall just shakes his head. 

“I bet you can,” Niall tells him before he presses his lips to Zayn’s temple. Zayn would argue, but he doesn’t know when he’s going to get to kiss Niall again and doesn’t want to put the opportunity to waste. 

He makes Niall promise to call him when he lands and hugs him too long and kisses him too hard before he goes through security.

Niall doesn’t call him when he lands, doesn’t call him the next day or the day after that either. He supposes it’s for the best, in the long run, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

-

Zayn has a meeting with the record label the next day and they give him the opportunity to sign a contract with them. The lay out their plans for him, including the marketing strategy, and play him some demos, and even though Zayn isn’t sure what type of artist he wants to be, he knows for certain what they’re describing isn’t it.

“I want to write my own music,” he states plainly. It seems obvious to him, after weeks of singing songs he vaguely knows to please the judges and the rest of America, that if he really wants a shot at this, he needs to do it on his own terms.

The executives share a look (Zayn is so fucking sick of shared looks) and tell him that possibly, if his first album does okay, he can write one or two for the next one.

When he tells them no, he doesn’t want to sign the contract, they explain to him that in the paperwork he signed for X-Factor, he’s not allowed to sign with another record label for a year, and after that point no one is going to care about the second runner up on America’s third most popular singing talent competition. He’d be crazy not to sign it. He’s a young, dumb kid, and he shouldn’t fuck this up.

But Zayn has already given up on one dream in the last 24 hours, and he refuses to do it again.

_Track 4_

That summer, Zayn moves into a crappy apartment in downtown LA. He spends most of his time singing backup vocals on some different tracks thanks to the few connections he made while on the show, and scratching down song lyrics in random Starbucks throughout the city. It’s enough to pay the bills.

Every day for two months he begins to write a text out to Niall but deletes it before he sends it out, because for the first time in his life, Zayn is having trouble coming up with the right words. Maybe deep down he realizes it’s not going to make a difference anyway, that the distance between them, both physical and emotional, is too much, that there’s not enough room for one more on Zayn’s journey of self-discovery (that’s what he’s considering this now, not an ill thought out and terribly planned move to LA that involved dropping out of school to pursue a singing career, just a “journey of self-discovery”). All he knows is he has scraps of paper, backs of receipts, and wrinkled up napkins strewn about his apartment with the beginnings, middles, and ends of apologies scribbled all over them, never going to be read.

At first he occasionally gets recognized while waiting in line for the movies, or buying cereal at the store, but the executives were right and eventually people start to forget about his semi-reality tv show fame and he’s able to fade back into obscurity, which in all honesty he doesn’t really mind. All the extras that came along with being famous were never really what he wanted. It’s not being able to perform that really kills him, his voice only echoing off bathroom tiles and kitchen cabinets.

A few months into his hold out he splurges on a lawyer to read over his old contract and it turns out he’s allowed to perform, just not for any type of compensation. He toys with that information for a few weeks, not really sure of its value considering he’s basically broke and eating microwavable rice for every other meal. But there’s one night he’s out with a bunch of people he doesn’t really know and doesn’t particularly like, and as they’re jammed around a streetlight trying to count the change from all their pockets to see if there’s enough money for a cab, he glances up at the bar behind them and notices a frayed “Open Mic Night – Every Friday” sign flapping in the breeze. For some reason, something comes over him and he decides on a whim that this is the most brilliant idea in the world.

“I’ll catch up with ya,” he mumbles to the others, though he doesn’t think they notice as he breaks from the heard and bounds up the steps to the bar.

Either this bar sucks or it's closing time, because besides a couple still making out on a stool that’s precariously close to tipping over and a bartender wiping down glasses, the place is empty.

“Hey, pal, we’re closing, sorry,” the bartender says, sounding legitimately apologetic.

“No, I, uh, you know,” Zayn starts, trying to remember exactly why it was he came in at this exact moment. Oh, shit, he was drunker than he thought.

“You need to use the bathroom? Up the stairs and to the left.”

Zayn closes his eyes and shakes his head, struggling to recall what he had been certain was an amazing idea a minute and a half ago.

“Open Mic Night!” he announces, with such enthusiasm that even the couple in the corner detach from one another for a moment to see where all the yelling is coming from.

The bartender finally glances up from the glasses to actually look at Zayn and narrows his eyes. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Nah, I just have one of those faces,” Zayn lies easily, like he does every time someone thinks they know him. It’s just way simpler than the awkward, “Whatever happened to you?” conversation that inevitably follows.

The bartender looks unconvinced, frowning slightly. “What about Open Mic Night?”

“I want to sign up,” he answers, walking over to the bar and resting on his elbows, giving the bartender a dopey smile.

“For next weekend?”

Zayn nods while the bartender lets out a sigh and tells him, “Just a sec,” and goes to a door in the back. Zayn watches him retrieve a clipboard and pen, thinks he’s cute, all lanky arms and legs, and imagines it’s never hard for him to get tips with dimples like his.

He returns a moment later and hands the list to Zayn, who notices only a few names scribbled at the top. He begins writing, as best he can in his state, while the bartender watches on.

“So what do you do?” the bartender asks as Zayn hands back the clipboard.

“I sing.”

“Yeah, okay, what do you sing?” the bartender asks, an amused smile taking over his face. He looks down at the clipboard, then back up at Zayn, and Zayn wills him to not make the connection.

“Songs,” he answers quickly.

To be fair, Zayn’s not being difficult on purpose. He’s just pretty drunk and arrogant enough to think that signing up for an open mic night without having giving any thought to what he’s going to play is good idea.

“So, what, did you lose a bet or something and your friends are making you do this?” the bartender asks, but he’s smiling at Zayn, not in a condescending way, but in a genuinely nice way, and yeah, Zayn thinks, he is standing in this random bar trying to sign up for an open mic night because he lost a bet, but not necessarily in the way this bartender is asking.

“No, I’m actually an incredibly gifted singer,” Zayn answers with a wicked smile, only half joking, but the bartender actually laughs out loud at that one. 

“Well, I’d say good luck then, but apparently you don’t need it.” The bartender dishes it back easily, and Zayn decides he likes him. This whim didn’t turn out half bad, if he does say so himself.

“Thanks, man,” Zayn says with a salute. The bartender gives him a small wave and goes back to the glasses and Zayn turns to leave when he suddenly remembers something important.

“Hey, wait, do you have a CD player?”

“Like, do I personally own one or…” the bartender asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, no, does this place have one I can play backing music on.”

“You’re not playing guitar?” the bartender asks with a frown.

Zayn remembers the one night Niall tried to teach him guitar, when he got distracted by the way Niall kept whispering chord combinations in his ear while he tried to arrange his fingers correctly, and how they ended up fucking on Niall’s ugly green futon instead.

“Should I be?” he asks, pushing down the memory. This night suddenly, finally, seems to be catching up with Zayn.

“I’m not going to tell you how to play your set, but people definitely respond better to completely live music than just stuff you have blasting from your iPhone.”

Zayn lets out a groan, because this dude is totally right. This is why Zayn never does things on whims. If he had actually planned this out he’d be able to pick the perfect few songs and wrangle one of his friends into playing guitar for him and practice them until they’re nearly perfect and it would’ve been great. Instead, right now he’s dumbly standing in the middle of some empty bar trying to even remember what a guitar looks like. This, right here, is why he never does anything on a whim. Whims are so fucking stupid.

The bartender must notice how quickly Zayn’s mood deflates, because he tilts his head to the side in thought before finding the pen and grabbing Zayn’s hand and writing something on it.

“I might know someone who can help you out. This is my number, text me tomorrow and and I’ll let you know.”

Zayn stares down at the number that the bartender -- Harry, apparently -- has scrawled on his hand and then back up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not, right?” he asks with a friendly shug. 

Zayn nods slowly. “Thanks, bro.”

Harry gives him a quick, easy smile, and Zayn leaves, holding his palm close to his chest like treasure. 

“Uh, can you guys leave now? Maybe? Please?” he hears Harry beg to the couple still in the corner as the door closes behind him.

-

Zayn actually completely forgets about the whole thing when he wakes up the next morning, only remembering when he sees ink stained on the side of his cheek when he glances in the mirror. He looks down at his hand, deciphers the faded name and number still etched on it, and the embarrassing memory of running into the bar comes flooding back.

He stares at the number for a few minutes, deciding his best course of action. The easiest thing to do would be to go back to the bar and cross his name off the list, but for some reason that sounds more cringe inducing to Zayn than just showing up and being shitty. As dumb as it was to go and sign up for an open mic night occurring in less than a week with nothing prepared, the fact of the matter is he really does want to be on a stage singing again. And if that means doing it at a bar where most of the audience will be drunk and talking over him the whole time, so be it.

Zayn spends 45 minutes crafting a text message that he deems both serious and casual enough to send, and then has to only wait a few minutes for a reply.

_“Yeah. My friend’s in. Wants to meet up tonight. Give me your address I can pick you up in two hours..”_

Zayn lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and then sets out to find the perfect outfit to impress people who he half figures may be organ harvesters.

-

“Thanks again for doing this,” Zayn says as he climbs in Harry’s car. “Especially since I, like, barely know you.”

Harry, who apparently is a Bruce Springsteen impersonator in his spare time going by the American flag bandana and skinny jeans he’s currently sporting, flips up his sunglasses and narrows his eyes. “You seem so familiar though. Are you sure I don’t know you from somewhere?”

“Positive,” Zayn says quickly, trying to find a change of subject. “Where are we going?”

“Oh right. Well, I have this friend, she’s in this band--”

“It’s a girl?” 

“Yeah, did I not tell you that? Is that okay, or?” Harry looks very concerned.

“No, it’s cool,” Zayn assures him. “What kind of music?”

“Oh, it’s like riot grrl popcore updated for a 21st-century intersectional lens,” Harry explains.

“Right,” Zayn answers, because he has no idea what that means.

“Anyway, they got signed and now they’re trying to record their album but their label’s been fucking with them and what not and even though they’re known for their live shows, they’re not letting them perform live.”

“Um,” Zayn starts, “no offense, but how are they supposed to help me if they can’t perform live?” 

Harry’s grin widens, like he’s telling Zayn a secret. “Well, they went through their contract, right? And it only said they couldn’t perform their own instruments without permission from their label. So my friend, Perrie, she’s the drummer, okay? But she’s also not a terrible guitar player either, but since they all sing none of them can really go perform and sing, and since you can only sing and not play guitar…” Harry’s smile is overtaking his whole face, at this point, and he slaps his hands together to accentuate the point.

“Boom! Perfect match. It’s like fate!”

“I dunno if I’d go that far,” Zayn admits. “We haven’t even met yet.” Now Zayn’s like 85% sure he’s going to wake up in 12 hours alone in a bathtub, missing a kidney.

They fall into a semi-uncomfortable silence that makes Zayn wish his perpetual wish, that he was better at small talk. He fiddles with one of his bracelets until he thinks of a question.

“Um, so, how did you meet them?”

“Well, their label has them living in this huge house up in the hills. They throw crazy parties. You’ll have to come to one.”

“Parties aren’t really my scene, if I’m being honest.”

They’re stopped at a light, and the way Harry’s forehead crinkles in confusion almost makes Zayn laugh out loud. “You don’t like free beer and hot girls?”

Zayn considers it for a moment. “Free beer I’m fine with. Less interested in the hot girls,” he admits. He’s found he can be more open about this with people he’s just met in Los Angeles than he could at a frat party in rural New England.

“Ah,” is all Harry says, because they’re turning into the driveway of a huge mansion up in the hills. 

Harry leads him up to the front door and knocks furiously before grinning at Zayn. “They’re gonna love you,” Harry encourages, and Zayn tries to push down the queasiness settling in his stomach.

A girl opens the door just enough to look at them and give them each a once-over.

“Leigh-Anne!” Harry exclaims, opening his arms wide for a hug, but she just narrows her eyes further.

“Hi, Harry,” she says flatly, then looks back at Zayn, who feels like he could be crushed just by her gaze. “You weren’t kidding about his cheekbones.”

“Wha--?” Zayn starts to ask, but then she’s opening the door wider, giving them instructions. 

“Perrie’s waiting for you up in her room,” she tells them, flipping her hair out of her face. She turns around and leaves, strolling back without a second glance, and Zayn can’t tell if it’s love or fear that’s rolling around in his gut.

Harry motions to follow him up the stairs and knocks on a door at the end of the hall. “Come IN!” someone sing-songs in a high register.

They’re greeted by a room so bright that, for the second time in his life, Zayn wonders if he should be wearing sunglasses indoors (he ignores the pang in his chest at the reminder of the first time he wondered that). 

It takes him a moment in all the chaos of posters and ripped out magazine pages stuck on the walls to find the blur of pink and denim on the bed that’s the person they’re looking for. She’s lounging on her stomach, flipping through a magazine, and she grins when she sees them.

“Hi!” Perrie greets warmly. Apparently her band functions on opposites. “Zayn, is it? Harry told you everything already, right?”

“Yep!” Harry answers for him, and Perrie looks at him. “Does he talk?”

“He’s quiet, but he’s got character,” Harry assures, and Zayn looks at him with confusion spread across his face, considering they barely know one another.

“And he can sing?”

“I mean, I think so…”

“You told me he was, quote unquote, insanely gifted,” Perrie squawks. 

“Well, to be fair, he told me that himself and I just took him on his word?” Harry tries, and Perrie groans, dropping her head to the bed.

“Um,” Zayn scratches at his neck. He thought it was entirely luck that had gotten him here, standing in the bedroom of a girl with a guitar who wants to play with him, but he realizes this has been a much longer process for the two of them. He was sort of expecting more formalities, but he supposes he likes that they’re not even putting up pretenses for him. 

She looks up at him again and tilts her head. “Can you sing?” she asks sweetly.

It’s been months since anybody’s heard him, so he just goes for it, probably taking more pleasure then he should when he sees their eyes widen and the smile on Perrie’s face go from forced to genuine as she moves to kneel on the bed and clap her hands together in excitement

When he’s done, Harry claps him even harder on the back, and Zayn stumbles forward a bit, then rubs a hand through his hair. 

“I think we can make this work,” Perrie says, and then rolls her eyes. “No thanks to Harold over here.”

“Heeeeeey,” Harry protests, but Zayn’s too busy wondering why he’s so happy he managed to impress these two people he’s thinks might actually be insane.

-

He spends the rest of the week up in the hills preparing his act with Perrie. It’s weird at first, spending so much time with someone he barely knows, considering he usually spends months before he considers someone a friend. Not for the time in his life, he wishes he were more like Niall, who could walk into a room and be friends with every person in it. Instead he’s stuck stumbling over words and declining her invitations to hang out after they’re don’t rehearsing because he’s too worried about looking dumb in front of her.

Their first roadblock comes when they're deciding the songs they’re going to cover. They only need three for their first set, but it becomes readily apparent their music tastes have little overlap. 

(“How about Journey?” Perrie offers while flipping through her collection of vinyls.

Zayn scrolls through his iPod, tilting his head. “What song is theirs again?”

“Are you serious?” she asks as her jaw drops. 

Zayn shrugs and goes back to his phone. “Chris Brown?”

“After what he did to Rihanna? No, ew,” she shakes her head definitively.

“You can still like his music, and not him,” Zayn mumbles, but Perrie shoots him a glare and he puts up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, sorry, nevermind then.”

“Bon Jovi?” shes asks off hand, but Zayn’s head shoots up, reminded almost instantly of how often Niall would insist on playing “Living on a Prayer” at every party. The memory’s still a little too raw that even just the band name makes his heart ache for a moment.

“No,” he says so resolutely that Perrie doesn’t even bother to argue.

Zayn sighs and continues swiping down his phone. “What about something by Michael Jackson?”

He watches as she opens her mouth to protest, but then closes it in consideration. “Yeah. Yeah,” she repeats, getting more excited, “That could work.”)

They practice in her room for hours, with Jade occasionally sticking her head in to give them tips, or Jesy barging in to give them shit, and it’s nice to be around so many girls again, reminds him of growing up surrounded by sisters and aunts and grandmothers. It’s also nice to be around people who have no idea of his history, don’t expect anything of him except a solid voice and the drive to perform. 

When next Friday rolls around, he meets up with them early at the bar and he sees it’s already fairly crowded. 

“More people here than I thought,” he admits as he slides onto a bar stool.

“Don’t be nervous, we’re gonna be great,” Perrie encourages, and Zayn wonders if he should tell her the last time he performed it was for 5 million people.

“Here, take a shot on the house, it’ll calm your nerves,” Harry says as he slides a shot glass filled with clear liquor down the bar.

Zayn doesn’t bother telling him he’s underage and knocks it back quickly, only to gag on the burning in his throat that follows.

“Disgusting,” Zayn says as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What even was that?”

Perrie’s shaking her head condescendingly, chin in her hand. “This is why I don’t drink.” 

“I like sambuca!” Harry pouts as he hands Zayn a chaser.

-

The performers that go on before them are fine, in the way that everyone in Los Angeles is fine, and Zayn feels like they’re better than them. In fact, Zayn knows they’re better than them.

What a difference a year makes.

They get up on the stage and Zayn expects to feel worried, or anxious, or nervous, but instead he just feels happy. He looks back at Perrie, who’s tuning her guitar, and the smile on his face must feel infectious because she looks up at him and giggles, smiles wide and bright and kicks him a bit. For a moment he thinks of Niall, who would probably love this place and their absurdly priced pints. His gut aches for a moment at the thought, but he uses it to push forward, give him a reason to sing and be here now. Make all the pain worth it.

He looks back at the audience, mostly people chattering and drinking, but sees a couple faces looking up at him in anticipation. He can hear the clinking of glasses and the shuffling of tables, sees Harry waving his hands above his head like a lunatic, listens as Perrie starts the beginning notes of “Dirty Diana,” and he starts singing.

-

Afterwards, they tumble off the stage and back to the bar towards Harry, but before they can even slide back onto their stools, Zayn’s being stopped by two girls who clearly got inside with fake IDs.

“Could we get a picture?” one of the asks, breathless and blushed, and Zayn, who’s still buzzing from the performance, from being on stage again, smiles and wraps an arm around each of them as they reach out their phones to snap the photos. 

“Thank you so much! You should’ve won!” they tell him as they huddle close to one another and they go back to their table.

He’s still smiling when he turns around to see Harry and Perrie looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. 

“You should’ve won what?” Harry asks, eyes so bugged Zayn’s afraid they might fall out.

“Um,” Zayn starts. “I was on, um, a show.”

Perrie crosses her arms. “What show?” 

“The X-Factor,” Zayn mumbles, scratching at his chin.

“What!” Perrie screams, and Harry’s eyes somehow manage to get even bigger.

“I knew I knew you from somewhere! I knew it!” Harry yells, pointing and jumping at the same time. 

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Us.” Perrie asks, each word accentuated by a hit to his shoulder. Zayn ducks his head, trying to avoid her assault.

“I dunno, didn’t seem relevant,” he murmurs, and Perrie almost falls off her stool.

“How would that not be relevant?” she yells, causing half the bar to turn and look at her. Zayn has never wanted to die as much as he does in this moment.

“I voted for you, you know,” Harry tells him, and nevermind. This is the most he wants to die. 

“The reformed bad boy who just wants to sing? How could I not?” Zayn can’t tell if Harry’s joking or not, but either way his face is buried in his hands. 

“When was this?” Perrie asks, doing one her rapid mood swings, from anger to curiosity.

“Like 6 months ago,” Zayn admits, and Perrie attempts to hide her peals of laughter between her hands.

“Oh my god, I thought you were gonna say when you were, like, 12, oh my god.”

“I’m just surprised you couldn’t get a record deal out of that,” Harry mutters.

“I mean, they did offer me one but I turned it down, it was bullshit,” Zayn explains, and Perrie nods understandingly. “Much rather be doing stuff like this, on my own terms.”

“Can’t believe I’m finally friends with a reality TV star,” Harry says wistfully.

“Yeah, we’re not friends.”

_Track 5_

Besides going over to the girl’s house to practice and seeing Harry every weekend at the bar, he doesn’t spend much time with them. Leigh-Anne will invite him to the parties up at their house and Harry will try to talk him into going to some weird club opening together, but Zayn can’t shake the feeling that they’re just doing it to be nice and not because they actually want to spend time with him.

He’s laying on his couch watching TV one day when he gets call from his mom. “Zayn,” he hears her whisper into the phone, and he instantly knows something’s wrong. “It’s about your grandpa...”

When he hangs up a few minutes later, he lies motionless on the couch because he doesn’t know what else to. His grandpa’s died and all he wants to do is go home, be wrapped up in his mother’s arms with her cooking in the air and the sounds of his sisters around him, but instead he’s stuck in his shitty apartment on the other side of the country unable to afford a plane ticket. 

His first thought is to call Niall, and his finger hovers over his name in his phone contacts for a few moments before he realizes he can’t, and he shouldn’t, and it just makes him more upset. It’s been months since they’ve spoken and to call him now would be unfair to both of them, no matter how much Zayn wants to.

So instead he calls Perrie, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, she answers.

“Zayn?” she asks, clearly confused by the fact he’s in fact actually initiating contact for once. “We don’t have practice today, what’s up?”

“Sorry, this was stupid,” Zayn says, suddenly embarrassed. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t call, I--”

“Zayn, what happened?” Perrie insists, and he knows there’s no use arguing with her when she gets like this.

“My grandpa died,” he answers flatly, and he’s not really sure what he expects her response to be, but it’s certainly not what comes next.

“We’ll be over in 15 minutes,” she tells him, and she hangs up before he can say anything else.

True to her word, he hears a knock on his door 15 minutes later, and when he opens it, Perrie wraps him in a hug so tight he doesn’t have a choice but to melt into it. 

When she pulls away she keeps her hands on him arms. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” she asks and Zayn shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

They move out of the doorway to let Jade and Leigh-Anne in, carrying two grocery bags filled with what is presumably enough junk food and desserts to feed a small army into the kitchen, and Harry and Jesy each give him a hug as well.

They lead him to the couch, and sit around his living room. They don’t press him to talk, just wait until he’s ready, and they all sit around listening as he recalls stories and memories, and he’s not sure he has the words to tell them how grateful he is that they’re here with him.

“I just wish I could do something out here on my own to commemorate him, you know?” Zayn says after a little while. 

“Could get a tattoo,” Leigh-Anne mentions, and Zayn’s head pops up off the couch. He hadn’t thought of that.

Harry’s eyes widen in delight. “I have a friend who does ‘em, could get it done for real cheap.”

Zayn thinks about it for a few moments before letting out an apprehensive, “Okay.”

The rest of them cheer while Jesy picks up a pen off the coffee table and starts doodling designs.

Forty-five minutes later, Zayn finds himself being ushered into a tattoo studio on the other side of town. As they all walk inside, he catches Perrie eye and walks over to her.

“Thank you, for all of this,” Zayn tells her, and he hopes she knows how genuinely he means it. “You didn’t have to all come over.”

“Of course! I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?” she says, and with a squeeze of his arm she’s off. It’s the first time one of them’s called him their friend that he finally believes it.

  
_Track 6_

The drudgery of the preceding months slips away now that Perrie and the girls, and even Harry, are around. Perrie plays him her Creedence Clearwater Revival vinyls, talks endlessly about how important Stevie Nicks is to her, gives him an education in classic rock he missed while he was too busy listening to Confessions Part II. Harry drags him to weird indie shows in basements and houses that sometimes verge on performance art rather than concerts, but it makes Zayn realizes there’s a whole part to the city he hadn’t even been aware of. 

He meets lots of new people and kisses some of them, but they never last more than a few weeks.

Liam gives him updates about school through mostly incomprehensible texts and he never mentions Niall, which Zayn isn’t sure is a relief or a disappointment. The apologies he’s written have turned into songs, notebooks filled with lyrics and chords just waiting to be heard.

Now that he actually has a life out here, people to be with, things to do, he spends less time thinking about what he’s lost, what’s still out on the East Coast somewhere. Thinking about Niall used to be like thinking about a missing a limb, an entire part of him that’s gone but the phantom pain still entirely present. No t’s more like a scar, something he usually forgets about until he hits it just right and the searing pain comes roaring back. Maybe it’s when he’s driving down the freeway, flipping through radio stations and “Hotel California” comes blasting through the speakers. Or maybe it’s when he’s tipsy in the corner at a party, bored and wanting to leave, and he catches sight of blond hair in the crowd and for a moment he think he’s back at school, in some room at a frat house waiting for Niall to come back and slide under his arm, eyes glossy as he asks him to go home so they can fall asleep in a tiny twin size bed in their clothes, Niall’s hand dipped under Zayn’s shirt, resting on his stomach as he murmurs promises about what he’ll do to him tomorrow. But then the moment’s passed, whoever it was is gone, and Zayn remembers where he is, what he’s doing here, and he downs the rest of his drink to distract himself from the aching in his gut.

-

Zayn and Perrie’s (they haven’t come up with a better name) act grows popular enough that they get their own whole set Thursday nights at the bar doing cover songs. It’s such an eclectic mix that it keeps everyone happy (that’s at least what Harry tells them).

There’s one afternoon where they’re in Zayn’s apartment, working on a few new songs, when she asks about the tabs to a Miguel song he’s convinced her to try out.

“I printed out the tabs, they’re sitting on my desk,” he instructs her, and she goes into his room to find them.

He’s busy looking through e-mails on his phone and doesn’t notice when she hasn’t returned in a couple minutes. “Perrie?” he calls out, but she doesn’t respond, so he goes over to the bedroom and finds her standing over his desk, looking at his notebooks filled with all the songs he’s written over the last six months. The panic starts bubbling within his stomach.

“Um,” he mutters. “Those aren’t... anything…”

“Did you write these? All of these?” she asks as she flips through the pages, her eyes gazing over the words that no one else but Zayn has seen.

He nods, because he doesn’t think he can speak. He hadn’t planned on showing anyone for the foreseeable future. 

“These are... amazing, Zayn. Seriously, why didn’t you tell me you could write like this?”

He shrugs, his head ducked down in embarrassment. “I dunno, told you I was an English major back at school.”

“Do you know how many terrible English majors I’ve met out here. Gosh, Zayn.” She finally looks up at him. “Are these all about one person?”

He nods. He’s made vague references to his “ex” on occasion, but not enough for anyone out here to piece together any semblance of his and Niall’s history. 

“This is so sad, no wonder you’re so so emo all the time, oh, Zayn,” she rushes over to hug him, which he only gives into to humor her.

“It’s fine, I’m mostly over it. It helped to get it all down, though, you know?”

They break apart, and Perrie has one of those determined looks on her face that Zayn knows no good can come out of. “We have to perform one of these.”

Before he can even protest, she’s grabbed his wrist and pulling him back into the living room. “Pick one,” she orders, handing him the notebook.

-

Zayn begins to notice a young guy that always seems to be in the audience during their set. He can’t be much older than Zayn, but he always sits by himself, sipping on a beer and looking at his phone. Zayn’s not sure when he started coming, or why he even caught his eye, but he always keeps a look out for him.

It’s why after they perform one of Zayn’s original songs for the first time, when he looks up to see the guy stand up and walk out, typing away on his phone, he’s even more perplexed.

The audience reaction is even better than expected, though, and the compliments they get make Zayn forget all about the guy leaving. 

He and Perrie are sitting at the back bar, talking with Harry, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to find the guy from earlier, struck by how bright his eyes are.

“Hey, Zayn, was wondering if I could have a chat with you for a bit,” he says with the confidence Zayn only wishes he had.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up, bro?” Zayn settles back into his seat.

The guy’s eyes flicker to Harry and Perrie, seeming to debate whether this conversation can take place right now. “How about we step outside for a bit, yeah?”

Zayn shrugs and stands up, following him out the door. He looks back to see Perrie and Harry grinning at him, clearly expecting that this guy is about to ask him out, but Zayn has a feeling that’s not what this is about. 

They stand outside in the smoking area and Zayn fishes his pack out of his back pocket. He motions it over as an offering, and with a “yeah, thanks,” the guy takes a cigarette out from it, and Zayn hands him his lighter as well.

After they’ve both lit up, Zayn expects him to launch into whatever he wanted to talk about, but instead he’s quiet, contemplative, watching the traffic pass by as he takes a drag. 

Zayn decides he likes him, likes anyone who knows when to just shut the fuck up and enjoy a cigarette. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the guy stomps out the end of his and looks at Zayn dead on. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, I think you’re massively talented.”

Zayn lifts his head to exhale, and then looks back at him. “Thanks.”

“I’d love to work with you,” he tells him, fishing out a business card from his pocket and handing it to him. Zayn tries to read it the moonlight.

_Louis Tomlinson  
Artists and Repertoire_

“Aren’t you a little young to be an A&R guy?” Zayn scoffs.

Louis grins, like he never gets sick of hearing that question, and then tilts his head. “Aren’t you a little young to be a washed up X-Factor contestant?”

Zayn barks out a laugh at that. “Touche.”

“Look, I’m not expecting you to say yes right now. But I think this could be the beginning of some good conversations--”

“I’m not allowed to sign any other deals,” Zayn blurts out. “Part of my contract.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise as he thinks for a moment. “Let me worry about that. You just give me a call on Monday if you want to talk further.”

Zayn stares at the business card for awhile. “Um, okay.”

He goes back inside the bar to find Perrie and Harry sharing a mischievous look. 

“He was cute,” Perrie tells him.

Harry wrinkles his nose, “Eh.”

“It’s not…” Zayn says with a shake of his head. “He’s from a label,” he says, and Perrie snatches the business card out of his hand before he can even offer it to her.

“What did he say?” Harry asks, leaning dangerously over the bar to look at the card. 

“He said I should call him,” Zayn says, and Perrie looks up at him.

“Well, are you going to?”

“Yeah. Yeah I think I am.”

-

Louis Tomlinson ends up being simultaneously the best and worst person in Zayn’s life.

For someone who's apparently willing to do god-knows-what to get Zayn out of an ironclad contract (and Zayn never finds out what, exactly, because every time he asks, Louis just smirks, pinches his cheek, and walks away), he’s also entirely unwilling to to put up with any of Zayn’s bullshit. 

He yells at him every morning when he shows up to the studio late, throws pillows at him whenever he catches Zayn taking naps on couches, or tables, or sometimes even the floor, and becomes so friendly with Harry and the girls whenever they visit that Zayn’s fairly certain they only come to hang out with Louis at this point.

(But he also gives Zayn almost complete artistic freedom to do what he wants on his album, so Zayn can never really find it in himself to actually dislike Louis.)

Which is why he feels really bad for what he’s about to do. Really, really bad. He’d been sitting in his apartment, listening to the recordings of his nearly complete album. An album he’s worked incredibly hard on, that’s he’s poured blood, sweat, and tears into, that he’s really fucking proud of. But it’s also an album where almost every song is about Niall.

And he’s over Niall. He really is. He’s pretty sure nothing’s a better detox then getting out all your feelings through song. But as he’s sitting in his dim kitchen, listening to the mp3’s on his computer, he realizes how much it’s going to suck once this record gets released and Niall hears it for the first time, having no idea what he’s in for. But he also knows Louis is going to kill him for what he’s about to do.

Zayn saves a .zip file and attaches it to an e-mail, then stares at the blinking of an empty message space for awhile.

It takes up to 12 minutes to come up with subject line of, “Hey.”

He writes and rewrites and rewrites again until he has an e-mail that doesn’t make him cringe after one read through, and he sends it before he can even reconsider.

_Hey Niall,_

_Hope you’re good. Dunno if Liam’s told you or not, but I’ve been recording a record and its almost done and I thought you should hear it first. Hope this isn’t too weird aha!_

_Thanks,  
Z x_

 

He doesn’t expect a response, doesn’t really want one in reality, and he tries to push the fact that he did it out of his mind, but the next day while in the grocery store he gets a text from an unknown number and his stomach flips. 

_hey is this still zayn?_

Even though he had deleted Niall’s number after one too many rounds of “do I send this text or not,” he still instantly recognizes it and wastes no time in replying back.

 _ya, its me, whos this?_ He can practically feel the tomato sauce judging him for being such a dick. He only has to wait a few moments for a response.

_it’s niall horan just wanted 2 say thx for sending me the songs !_

Zayn has to laugh, as if he’s has been sending CDs to multiple different Niall’s and might get confused. He sits down, though, feeling light-headed. He hasn’t spoken to Niall in over a year and he doesn’t want to fuck this up again. His fingers are starting to tingle as he types:

_ya np i just thought u shld hear it first. hope it wasnt awkward!_

Zayn starts walking back to his apartment because he’s not sure if he can handle being in public right now. 

_appreciate that ! nah not awkward, its rly good ! i knew youd b amazing !_

He spends the walk up the stairs to his apartment thinking of what to say when his phone goes off in his hand.

_hey i know your busy bein a rockstar butcan I call u sometime when ur free?_

Zayn has to bite back the smile threatening to overtake his face as he writes back:

_I’m free right now :D_

He throws the phone on the counter and paces wildly back and forth in his kitchen as he waits, still jumping in anticipation when he hears it vibrate.

He grabs the phone, lets his finger hover over the button while he takes a deep breath to steady his nerves. 

“Hello?” it comes out breathless and hectic, like he just finished running a marathon.

“Hey, it’s me.” He can hear Niall’s smile through the line and fuck, it’s like nothing’s changed.

_Track 7_

But things have changed.

“So, what’s up?” Zayn asks, like it hasn’t been a year since they last spoke.

“Not much, just chilling,” Niall offers, and Zayn feels a little dizzy just from hearing his voice again.

“Cool.”

There’s an awkward silence and Zayn feels flustered trying to come up with a topic. 

“The album’s really good!” Niall tells him.

“Thanks, I, uh, put a lot into it.”

“Yeah I can tell,” Niall says, and they lapse back into quiet. He wonders if he and Niall ever had a conversation so stilted and uncomfortable. This isn’t how he pictured this going.

“So, what’ve you been up to?” Zayn's floundering for something, anything.

Niall launches into an explanation of how he got elected social chair for the fraternity and all the mixers they’ve been having and it gives Zayn a chance to get his head above water and catch his breath. 

“Anyway, how’s LA?” Niall finally asks. 

Zayn looks out the window and considers it for a moment. “It’s better,” he answers finally. 

“That’s good-- wait fuck, I have to get to class,” Niall says with a sigh.

“Oh, wow, things have changed a lot since I left,” Zayn teases, and the flip his stomach does when he hears Niall’s cackle on the other end is one he hasn’t felt in months.

“I’ll text ya when it’s over, yeah?” Niall asks, and there’s a hesitancy to his tone Zayn doesn’t think he’s heard before, hates to think he’s been the cause of it.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Zayn says quickly, unsure how he can convey just how much he means it.

-

It takes a few days for Zayn to reacquaint himself with seeing Niall’s name pop up on his phone screen. It’s nice to be back in contact with someone who was so important to him for so long, even if it’s only for a few texts back and forth each day.

A few days later Zayn’s taking a smoke break outside the label offices when he feels his phone vibrate and sees it’s Niall calling.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Zayn! You’re not gonna believe this! They closed down the Chinese place on 5th street!”

It takes him a few seconds to figure out what Niall’s yelling about. “Wait, the one that had the three egg rolls for a dollar deal?”

“Yes! Can you believe it? Something about a health code violation or some shit. Bunch of fucking weaklings if you ask me.”

Zayn can’t help but laugh at how frustrated he sounds. “You’re gonna be stuck ordering from the one on the other side of town that charges for delivery now.”

Niall lets out a frustrated groan and Zayn grins at he stamps out his cigarette.

“Anyway, I just thought I should let you know, I remembered that time you ordered fifteen dollars worth of egg rolls.”

“Excuse me, I may have ordered fifteen dollars worth but you ended up eating half of them and then couldn’t get out of bed the next day. You really should be counting this as a victory.”

Zayn listens to Niall’s snickering as he gets on the elevator to go back upstairs. “Anyway, I have to go to a meeting, but I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, bye, Zayn!” 

Zayn smiles as he hangs up the phone. Even though all they’re doing is talking, it’s nice to have Niall back in his life again. He doesn’t even mind knowing absolutely nothing except friendship is going to come of it.

-

One day Zayn’s finishing up drawing the album artwork (he’d insisted on doing it himself) and sending pictures to Niall to see if he likes it.

“Ugh, fuck, I think I just dripped sweat onto it,” Zayn groans into the phone, and Niall’s laugh rings through his ears. He can’t believe he survived so long without hearing it.

“How hot it is there? It’s May and 40 fucking degrees here, such bullshit,” Niall mutters into the phone.

“It’s, like, 80, I think?” Zayn brags.

“Fuck off, Malik. I’m so jealous,” Niall threatens into the phone with no malice behind his voice. “Liam spent all winter makin me go ice skating, I looked like a fucking idiot.”

“You guys should come and visit,” the words come tumbling out of Zayn’s mouth before he even has a chance to think about it.

There’s a pause on the other end and Zayn bites his lip and wonders if it this was too much, that maybe he crossed over some unwritten line he didn’t even know they were toeing at.

“Are you serious?” Niall asks and it’s not accusatory or shocked, just genuinely curios to see if Zayn’s kidding.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to have people from home here for when all the promo and stuff gets crazy, and I think you’d really enjoy getting to see this side of it, yeah? It’d be, um, educational?” Zayn tries. 

“I’ll ask Liam about it,” Niall says quietly, and Zayn wonders if this is his best or worst idea yet. 

But when he gets a text the next day that says, _classes are done on the 10th, u free the 15th?_ he’s smiling so hard that Louis actually asks what’s wrong with him. 

Two weeks later, Zayn’s standing by himself in LAX when he spots Liam first. His hat is sticking above the rest of everybody elses’ heads, his black sweatshirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he adjusts the strap on his bag. Zayn’s about to call out to him when he sees Niall behind him and he decides he needs a few moments to get prepared. Niall’s taller, less lanky and more defined. He’s got on a snapback and raybans, carrying his guitar case, and when he laughs at something Liam’s said, Zayn notices that his braces are gone as well. He’s still trying to take it all in when Liam spots him and begins running over. 

Once he reaches Zayn he gathers him in a bear hug, lifting him off the floor a little bit, and Zayn laughs, grasping the back of his neck until Liam lets him go, putting him back on the floor and giving him the once-over.

“Missed you, bro,” Liam tells him, and Zayn pulls him back in for another hug. 

When they break up apart, Niall’s standing there, grinning.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Zayn murmurs, unsure of if he should hug him or shake his hand. But before he can spend another moment awkwardly staring at him, Niall’s saying, “C’mere” and pulling him in for a hug. Zayn wraps his arms around him and is struck by how he smells exactly the same, and for a second Zayn wonders if this isn’t as easy as he thought it was going to be.

He’s not sure how long they stand there holding one another, only breaking apart when Liam coughs a little too loudly to be natural. When they let go, Niall slides his glasses onto his face and Zayn pretends he doesn’t hear when Liam asks, “Dude, are you _crying?_ ”

-

Zayn gives them the tour of LA, the one he never got a chance to give Niall. Only this time instead of seeing the Hollywood sign and the Grove, he’s showing him the tiny recording studio he spent most of last summer at, and the Thai place downstairs that always gives him free spring rolls, and the tattoo shop he got his ears pierced at for half price because he agreed to watch the owner’s dog for a weekend.

It’s a bright day out and Zayn, in his anxiety to get to the airport, forgot his sunglasses at home, so as they drive around the city, he’s sure they notice how much he’s squinting. But they don’t notice the thrumming in his veins, or how sweaty his hands feel on the steering wheel, or how he’s realizing maybe it’s not so much that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but until it’s back again.

Niall’s sitting in the front seat, hands tucked under his arms and feet on the dashboard like he’s been in this car a million times before, and Zayn wonders why he ever thought him being here would be awkward, as if Niall has ever experienced an awkward moment in his life.

Zayn looks in his rearview mirror to see Liam staring at the scenery in a contemplative way that Zayn knows is never a good sign, because contemplative Liam never tells Zayn anything he wants to hear, but then Niall laughs at some billboard that isn’t even funny, and it’s so infectious that Zayn’s laughing too, and he feels like they’re back in his dorm room, stoned and stupid, laughing at some video they found on YouTube.

“You’ve changed,” Niall tells him suddenly, and Zayn remembers how far they really are from hall bathrooms and dining halls.

“My hair?” Zayn smirks.

“No, you’re like, more confident. Or something. I dunno. ‘s nice,” Niall tells him, and Zayn prays he doesn’t see the blush forming on his cheeks.

-

The shiny bright excitement of walking into a studio every day wore itself out for Zayn after a few months, but when he brings Liam and Niall in for a tour, their eyes light up like they’re seeing the Sistine Chapel. Liam gawks at all the other artists recording, while Niall drifts his fingertips lightly over the equipment.

“Wish we used stuff like this at school,” he murmurs to himself. 

Zayn takes them to the record label, which results in Liam, Louis, and Niall having a three-way battle over who can remember the most embarrassing Zayn story (Zayn’s not sure who wins, but he’s definitely sure he’s the real loser). 

While there were parts of Niall he never forgot, like the sound of his laugh, there were little things he lost track of that come back so easily now, like leaving his tomatoes from his sandwich onthe edge of his plate for Niall to eat. They’re the small, little things that Zayn doesn’t think anyone, not even Niall, will notice, but apparently they do, because when he’s walking back from the bathroom, out of nowhere Louis grabs him and shoves him down a random hallway.

“Dude, what the fuck are you--”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Zayn scrubs a hand over his face, confused. “Who’s what?”

“Niall. He’s the one the album’s about.”

“No,” Zayn protests weakly, and Louis sighs.

“Zayn, I’m not doing this with you right now, I--”

“Okay, yes, fine, it’s about him, okay? How do you even know?”

Louis shrugs. “You seem... happy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“I know.” 

Zayn wishes he felt as confident as he sounds.

-

That night they order take out and sit around his apartment. Afterwards, Liam follows Zayn into the kitchen to help clean while Niall fiddles around in the living room with his guitar.

“I’m surprised he hasn't dragged us out to a club yet,” Liam remarks as he starts washing a dish, and Zayn looks over in surprise. 

“Who? Niall?”

“Yeah, all he really does is go out. Do you know how many times I got sexiled last semester?” Liam laughs, and then looks up, embarrassed. “Shit, you probably don’t want to hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, taking the plate from Liam’s hands and shaking off the wave of nausea that overtakes him for a moment. “We’re fine.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, in the tone of voice he uses when it’s clear he doesn’t believe a word Zayn’s saying. “It’s just, he went out so much after you left.” He lowers his voice even more for what’s about to come out next: “Did you know he was on academic probation last semester?”

“Isn’t that, like, a right of passage for every fraternity member?” Zayn jokes, hoping it comes off casual, like he doesn’t care at all that Niall was out partying and hooking up while he was gone.

“Yeah, but he definitely took it to another level,” Liam shrugs. 

Zayn’s been drying the same spot on the plate for 2 minutes, can’t get all this new information out of his head. He sticks his head out of the kitchen, “Hey, Niall, do you wanna go out later?”

Niall looks up from his guitar, “Go out where?”

“I dunno, get a drink or something.”

“Are you, Zayn Malik, actually suggesting we go out in public? To a bar?”

“Fuck off, I was just offering in case you were bored.”

Niall considers it for a moment. “Nah, jetlag’s still a bitch, wouldn’t mind just hanging out here tonight.”

Zayn nods and goes back into the kitchen, where Liam shrugs. “I did say it started happening after you left.”

And Zayns wonders if maybe Niall didn’t take the break up as hard he did.

_Track 8_

His first televised performance is on one of the late night night shows, and Zayn brings the two of them along, even though they seem more excited about the free catering in the green room than anything.

Zayn’s sung live on television so many times he shouldn’t be batting an eyelash at this, but his stomach is churning and his palms are sweaty and he can’t figure out why. He’s pacing around backstage when Niall sees. 

“Hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, pulling Zayn by the wrist into the dressing room, but Zayn keeps walking, straight into the bathroom until he’s kneeling in front of the toilet, dry heaving. 

“It’s like freshman year all over again,” Niall jokes. Except it isn’t at all.

After a few minutes, Zayn sits down against the wall, leans his head against the tiles and tries to breath.

“What are you even worried about? You’ve done this tons of times,” Niall says quietly. Zayn opens his eyes to see him crouching in front of him, his features laced with concern.

“Yeah, remember how well that went last time?”

Niall huffs in disbelief before settling on the floor in front of him. “Are you serious? You didn’t know what the fuck you were doing back then, but now? Zayn, this is all you, now. It’s your songs and--”

“Exactly, it’s my stuff, if it sucks it’s all on me.” His mind is still racing with all the terrible possibilities that could occur. 

Niall smiles like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why do you always do this, put yourself down? Zayn, you’re good, you’re so fucking good, I…” Niall leans forward again, so close to Zayn that all he can think about is how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him. “If you get nervous out there, just pretend it’s the two of us in your room, yeah? Just you and me. Back then.” He says it like it was decades ago, like the memories aren’t fresh in their minds. Zayn swallows.

“I can do that.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks hopefully.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Zayn tells him. As he follows Niall out of the dressing room, he wonders when he started thinking about kissing Niall again. He wonders if he ever really stopped. 

There’s a moment right after the host introduces him where Zayn realizes how weird it is to be playing a song about Niall for the first time while Niall stands 50 feet away from him watching. But then the cameras are on him and he pushes that to the side and just starts singing, singing his song. And when it’s over, when he hears thunderous applause, he breathes a sigh of relief and realizes Niall was right. He did feel amazing.

There’s a bunch of hugs and back clapping from his team once he ducks off stage, a “wow” from the host himself, but what hits Zayn hardest is the moment he sees Niall before Niall sees him, his eyes glued to the TV monitor backstage. He’s got his lip between his teeth and his eyes are dark and he seems so small and vulnerable compared to the adults running around them. But then he spots Zayn and his face lights up and he’s coming over to give him a hug and Zayn has to remember to keep that image of Niall in his mind, to take it out while he’s laying in bed at night.

They end up going to the bar Harry’s bartending at as a celebration afterwards, and Zayn sends out a text to the girls to invite them as well, but Perrie responds quickly

_Can’t make it tonight, u were amazing tho. So proud of u <3_

“I guess you won't get to meet them before your flight leaves tomorrow,” Zayn tells Niall and Liam, but Niall shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Actually…”

“You haven’t asked him yet?” Liam hits Niall on the shoulder and Niall groans. 

“He was a little distracted earlier, okay?” Niall tells him

“Ask me what?”

“Um,” Niall starts, playing with his hands, “I’ve really enjoyed being at the studio and seeing how it all works, I was wondering if I could maybe stay another week or so? Just until the album drops. After that I’m sure you’ll be too busy throwing TVs through hotel windows.”

Zayn had been mentally preparing for their departure, had been getting used to the idea of them leaving and, after maybe a few months, falling out of contact like they had before. Letting Niall back into his life had been so easy, and he figures letting him back out of it will be just as easy, if not probably for the best. But he just nods and calmly says, “Of course. I’d love that, Nialler,” hopes he’s giving no indication of the debate raging inside of him over whether this is an amazing or a terrible idea. 

Niall looks visibly relieved. “Louis thought you wouldn’t mind either, but I wasn’t sure, considering--”

“Louis?” Zayn cuts him off when he realizes there’s a whole other dimension to this he hadn’t even realized. 

“Yeah it was Louis’ idea, actually,” Niall tells him, and Zayn’s stomach drops to unimaginable levels. He looks to the other end of the bar, where Louis’s talking to one of the producers. Zayn catches his eye and then tilts his head a little bit, engaging in body language only they can understand. Louis looks confused for a moment before breaking into a shit eating grin, then turning back to the conversation. Once again, Zayn’s not sure if he loves him or hates him.

-

When they drop Liam off at the airport the next day, and when he hugs Zayn goodbye, he whispers, “Be careful.”

When they pull away, Zayn promises, “I will,” even though he’s starting to think he doesn’t want to be.

-

The next morning he spends a half hour making his hair look perfectly disheveled before he leaves his bedroom (as if his spectacular bed head came naturally.)

As he opens the door, he sees Niall sitting at the table eating cereal, and he glances up at Zayn with a grin. “Cute glasses,” Niall mocks.

“Shut up,” Zayn answers, grabbing some papers off the table and whacking Niall on the back of the head with them as he makes his way into the kitchen. Niall just laughs as he brings the spoon to his mouth. Zayn’s surprised by how easily he thinks he could get used to this.

-

“You should smile more,” Niall tells him as Zayn walks out of an interview, and Zayn looks at him like he’s insane.

“What? Why?”

“You look miserable, it looks like you don’t want to be there.”

“I don’t want to be there. Who gives a shit about who my celebrity crush is?”

Niall shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It makes you look mean. Just smile more.”

Zayn frowns. “No.”

Niall pushes his fingers in the side of Zayn’s mouth, trying to move his lips upward, but then Zayn’s swatting his hands away and next thing he knows they’re rolling around on the floor in battle. Zayn’s knows they should stop doing this, for a multitude of reasons, but they don’t until Zayn’s got Niall pinned down, his knees around his thighs and hands covering his wrists, and they hear Louis.

“Oh my God. Get up!” he orders. “This is why I don’t work with children.”

“Louis, you’re barely a year older than me,” Zayn tells him, craning his neck back to try and look at him as he says it.

“Yet look who’s the one on the floor right now.”

“I’m going to remind you of this the next time call me drunk facedown on a park bench.”

Louis huffs and continues down the hall, and Zayn’s laughing when he looks down at Niall, only it dies in his throat when he sees the way Niall’s looking back up at him. They remain like that for a few moments, Zayn’s fingers still wrapped around his wrists, his knees still pinned to Niall’s side, pressing into him.

“Zayn…” Niall says quietly, weakly. It breaks past whatever was holding him there, and Zayn nods and gets up, unable to look at Niall until they’re safely out of the building. 

It’s getting harder and harder to deny that there’s nothing there anymore.

-

A few days later, Zayn wakes up and walks out of his room to find Niall laying on the pullout couch laughing at something on his phone.

“What’s so funny?” he yawns.

“This article called you mysterious.” Niall laughs again.

Zayn frowns. “I am mysterious.”

“Says the guy who spent 45 minutes on Skype yesterday helping his sister pick out a prom dress.”

“Well, when you put it-- wait, why are you even reading an article about me? You live with me.”

Niall shrugs, throwing his phone into the sheets. “Dunno, was just curious, I guess. Don’t you want to know what they’re saying about you?”

Zayn considers it for a moment. “I have people to worry about that for me,” he tells Niall as he continues into the kitchen.

“Like me,” he hears Niall answer softly.

-

Living with Niall turns out to be surprisingly easy. Niall always know when to leave him alone after it’s been a long day, to give him space to breath and resettle, and Zayn always knows when to pick up an extra order of garlic knots when he brings home pizza because he knows they’re Niall’s favorites. He loses track of how many times they’ve only seen the first 30 minutes of The Avengers because they both keep falling asleep before it ends, and how many times they’re fooling around with Niall’s guitar and Zayn catches Niall’s eyes and he sees something there that makes him wonder if it wouldn’t be that hard to just start everything all over again.

-

Zayn’s drunk. Drunker than he’s been in a while, possibly ever. His album is being released tomorrow and the label's rented out this whole club and Zayn’s going to enjoy it, even if it kills him. Or least gives him a wicked hangover in the morning.

He’s 7 or 8 (but really, who’s keeping track?) drinks in, sitting in a booth in the corner of the club, laughing as he watches one of the producers try to grind up on some hapless intern, when Niall slides in next to him. He’s been running around all night, dancing and chatting with almost everyone else, but he’s finally here now and Zayn can’t help but grin.

“Niall!” he shouts, pulling him closer until he’s practically sitting on Zayn’s lap. “How drunk are you?”

“Still on my first one,” Niall admits, tapping his bottle with Zayn’s glass of… something. He’s not really sure what he’s drinking, but he knows it’s delicious.

They’re quiet for a moment as they watch the party around them unfold. Zayn sits, feeling fuzzy and warm, trying to memorize the way Niall feels burning into his skin, the way his hair falls on his forehead, slightly damp with sweat, the way he licks his lips before his mouth breaks out in a smile. 

“So, uh, I was thinking…” Niall starts, and Zayn turns his entire body to face him, because this sounds important.

“And maybe I should ask you this when you’re not shitfaced-- can you let go of my chin for a second?” Niall asks with a laugh, and Zayn brings his hand down to his lap, not even realizing what he's doing. He’s so drunk. 

“But, uh, I was talking to Louis, and he said the people at the label really like having me around, and, uh, it’s been really great spending time with you again, and so, um, I’m thinking about spending the rest of the summer out here?”

It takes a few moments for what Niall’s actually saying to make sense in Zayn’s head, but once it does, all he can do is grab Niall’s face with both hands and plaster a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

“This is a cause for a celebration!” he shouts as he stands up on his seat. “More drinks!” 

Zayn spends the rest of the night going up to every single person at the party to slur to them about Niall staying for the rest of the summer. Eventually, when he gets to the point where he can’t remember who he has and hasn’t told and he’s announcing it to people for the third time, Niall is finally able to convince him to go home, since he has a long day of radio interviews ahead of him. They stumble out of the club, Zayn’s arm strewn over Niall’s shoulder as he guides him to the car, thanking god that the label splurged and got them a driver for the evening. It's raining, but Zayn’s got an album coming out tomorrow and a cute boy on his arm, so he doesn’t even care.

They scramble into the backseat and sit on opposite ends, Niall laughing and tapping out a beat as Zayn badly hums a Robin Thicke song. Zayn is drunker than he’s been in a long time, and happier than he’s been in a long time, and when he looks over at Niall, he’s smiling back at him and he can’t stop the voice inside his head telling him to kiss him.

So he unbuckles and slides over to Niall in what he imagines is a smooth and confident move and leans in close to his ear. “Hey,” he whispers, as seductively as possible.

Niall shifts almost imperceptibly away from him. “Uh, hi?”

Zayn leans down and presses his lips against Niall’s neck. But before he can really do anything, Niall’s pushing him back, his eyes wide.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought, I just-- you’re staying, I thought…” Zayn slurs out. Everything seemed so right 10 seconds ago, he’s not sure when it started going off the rails.

Niall lets out a cold laugh. “Yeah, I’m staying, but not for, like, this” he says, gesturing wildly between them. Zayn suddenly feels much more sober. 

“But… why not? Didn’t you listen to the album?” He’s still sitting uncomfortably close to Niall, but he can’t really focus on anything besides getting words out right now, and even that is a struggle. While his brain so easily focused on the “make out with Niall” plan a few minutes ago, right now he can’t hold onto a single coherent thought.

Niall smiles ruefully. “Of course I did. That’s why we can’t. If we start this,” he does his hand motion between them again, though less frantic, “it’s going to be just as hard when it ends in three months. I’m still going back to school at the end of the summer. This is still your life, not mine. Do you think it’s going to hurt any less the second time around?”

The realization hits Zayn slowly, until he can feel it deep within his bones, and the giddiness he’d felt over everything, from the album to Niall staying, disappears. He slides back over to the other side of the car and leans his head against the window, wondering if his nausea is from what just happened or the alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers, even though there are about 10,000 other things he wishes he could say, if he could just not be drunk as fuck.

“No, it’s…” Niall starts. Zayn assumes he intended to end with “fine,” but stopped because they both know it isn’t. “I should probably just go home,” he says quietly, as if to himself.

“I want you to stay,” Zayn answers back, not moving his view from the window as he watches the blurs of lights on the strip flash past them. He can feel Niall’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t trust himself to look back.

-

Zayn can feel the regret about what happened before he’s even consciously awake the next morning. He lies in bed for a lot longer than he should, running over every last detail of what a stupid fucking idiot he was. He’s pretty much expecting Niall to have already left, and at this point, he’s just delaying the inevitable. But eventually his need to get an advil for the splitting headache he has overpowers his embarrassment, and he slowly makes his way out of bed. He’s never drinking again.

He’s (pleasantly) surprised to see Niall sitting in his usual seat eating cereal. “You look like shit,” Niall states bluntly.

“Feel like it, too,” Zayn admits, rubbing a hand over his face as he goes over to the kitchen. He wonders how long they can survive on pleasantries. Maybe forever. Zayn usually hates small talk, but he’ll do it as long as Niall wants if it means never addressing what happened last night.

“So, I don’t know what you do or don’t remember from last night…” Niall starts off, turning in his chair to face Zayn in the kitchen.

Zayn pauses with his hand on one of the cabinets. Is Niall about to give him a free pass on this? Or is he still really drunk?

“Uh, honestly I don’t really remember much…” he answers, not at all honestly.

“Do you remember that I’m going to stay for the rest of the summer?”

Zayn lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “I think I do remember something like that,” he says with a small grin as he turns around to face Niall. Niall’s smiling back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You know, for work stuff.” Zayn nods. “You don’t remember anything after that?” Okay, now he’s definitely fucking with Zayn, but if he’s going to give him the out, he’s going to take it.

“Everything after that is blurry, if I said or did something dumb, I’m really sorry. I couldn’t do shots of tequila in college, I don’t know why I thought I could do them now.”

They both know Zayn’s lying, but the fact that Niall’s willing to let it slide just makes Zayn want to kiss him all the more; instead he opens the fridge so he doesn’t have to look at his face.

He glances at its contents and lets out a groan. “We’re out of milk.”

“I’ll go get some,” Niall offers, getting up from the table.

“I’ll come with you,” Zayn says. “Let me just put on some pants--"

“Nah, it’s fine, I got it,” Niall answers, grabbing the keys and shutting the door before Zayn can even finish. Maybe this pass isn't as free as he thought.

-

Zayn spends so much of the next week in a blur of performances, interviews, and photoshoots that he’s out the door before Niall wakes up and home long after Niall’s fallen asleep. Even when they do happen to see one another, Niall keep his distance, still smiling and laughing and talking, but never letting Zayn get too close. Zayn, for the most part, acts like he doesn’t notice, and pretends he doesn’t care that he totally fucked everything up between them because he had to go and get feelings for Niall all over again.

One morning he doesn’t have anything scheduled til the afternoon, so when he wakes up earlier than he wanted to and can’t fall asleep, he grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his nightstand, tiptoes through the living room as to not wake Niall who’s still asleep on the couch, and goes to the balcony.

He thinks about how well the record’s going to chart (Louis says the tracking is looking good for a top 5 spot), what he’s going to get his sister for her birthday (if he really does end up in the top 5, he’ll probably be able to get her the car that she’s been wanting for years), and what to do about Niall (he doesn’t have an answer to that one yet).

Zayn wonders if maybe the only way to get over Niall is to not be around him at all. He thought he’d be able to handle just being friends, considering how long they’d gone without speaking and how much they’ve both changed. But now it's clear that every version of Niall is someone that every version of Zayn wants to be with, and Zayn definitely isn't sure of how to handle that.

He’s leaning against the door, mulling this all over, when he hears the other side slide open. Niall, eyes still flushed with sleep, pokes his head out and gives a little, “oh” when he sees Zayn standing there. 

“Didn’t know you were still here. Didn’t know you were capable of voluntarily waking up before noon,” he tells him with a yawn.

Zayn exhales away from him, and then turns back with shrug. He offers him a cigarette and Niall nods and takes one, and when Zayn gives him the lighter, their hands touch for a moment and Zayn acts like he doesn’t notice how quickly Niall snatches his away. 

They smoke quietly for a few moments, Zayn thinking about how this is the most time they’ve spent with one another in awhile. 

“You nervous about the chart numbers?” Niall breaks the silence, but Zayn just shrugs again. 

“Whatever happens, happens.”

“Oh, I’m Zayn, I’m too cool to care about chart numbers, I just like to smoke on my balcony and read poetry for fun,” Niall mocks in a terrible impression, and Zayn snorts in response. “C’mon, don’t give me that shit, you can be honest with me.”

Zayn takes another drag before turning to Niall and whispering to him like it’s a confession: “Yeah, I’m actually really fucking nervous.”

Niall grins in victory that he finally got it out of him. “It’s gonna be great.”

“You always say that,” Zayn groans, leaning back against the door.

Niall exhales, and then smirks at him. “Yeah, but I’m always right.”

Zayn laughs and closes his eyes, trying to imagine that this, this back and forth and friendship and support without anything more, is enough for him.

_Track 9 >_

Zayn wakes up a week later to pounding on his door.

“Wha--?” he mumbles when he hears the door open, sticking his head out from under his covers.

“Are you serious? Check your phone, you idiot!” Niall yells from the doorway.

Zayn groans, falling face forward back onto his pillow. He sticks his hand out, fumbling with the mess of things on his dresser drawer until he lands on the phone. He grabs it and brings it close to his face, scrolling through the barrage of missed texts and phone calls, still half asleep and trying to make the words on the screen make sense.

“Okay, fuck it, I can’t wait any longer,” Niall whines, striding over next to the bed. “The album went to number two.”

“Mine?” Zayn asks, dumbly, face still stuck in his pillow.

“No, Lady Gaga’s,” Niall mocks, “Yes, yours!”

Zayn suddenly sits up, feeling dizzy. “Wow,” is all he can muster out. For the first time in a long time, Zayn lets his success sink in. He stops expecting worst-case scenarios or predicting his own failures and just accepts that this, having an album of entirely his own work be the second best-selling album in America, is his life now. He did it.

“Wow.”

He looks down at his phone again, scrolling through tons of “congratulations!” when he spots a “get into the offices now!” text from his manager from… 45 minutes ago. Fuck.

“I need to go,” he says quickly, running his hand through his hair and jumping out of bed. He’s headed to the bathroom for a quick shower when he hears a quiet, “Hey, Zayn,” from behind him.

He turns and sees Niall sitting on the bed now, smiling softly. He’s not sure how to handle this, handle any of this, especially since he spent the last week staying as far from Niall as possible, at least as far as you can from someone sleeping 10 feet away from you on your couch. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to do anymore, how close he can get to him before it’s too much. So he’s been orbiting around Niall like a planet, afraid to stray into a boundary he can’t see but knows is there, can feel its invisible strength pushing him back. But now Niall is here, in his bedroom, and he’s smiling and Zayn feels like he’s no longer walking on eggshells and trying to avoid making another huge mistake.

Niall stands up and walks over. “I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but…” he starts, and then he’s wrapping his arms around him and Zayn responds automatically, hugging him back. He didn’t know how much he missed this until he didn’t have it anymore. “Congratulations,” Niall whispers, and Zayn thinks that this might just be enough.

-

Everything changes so quickly, Zayn barely has time to process it all. He moves into a house, an actual house, and Niall takes over one of the guest rooms (“Just for the rest of the summer” he never fails to remind Zayn) and the whole thing becomes so fucking domestic that Zayn would hate himself if he had any shame left when it came to Niall. Niall will try and give him guitar lessons (“You’re lucky you’re such a good writer, bro”) and Zayn will pick a documentary off Netflix and insist they watch it (“I shouldn’t have to learn while I’m watching a movie, Z”) and whoever gets up first always makes the coffee for both of them. Niall doesn’t even mind whenever they’re at the grocery store or out for dinner and someone comes up asking for an autograph or a picture. It’s so nice to have this one beacon of stability, his anchor back to real life as his celebrity status rises, that there are moments like when they’re laughing at how badly Niall fucked up the pasta sauce he was trying to make that Zayn thinks that this might be enough, that Niall’s support and friendship will more than suffice.

But then there are times where Zayn actually gets a chord right and Niall’s eyes will light up, or when Niall falls asleep on his shoulder half way through the movie, his breath light on Zayn’s neck, and all Zayn can think is that he wants more, so much more, even though it’s not his to have anymore.

They go to a party one night up at the girls' house, who of course all fall in love with Niall as quickly as he did, and Zayn stands in a corner watching Niall make tequila shots for the 7 people surrounding him. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

He turns to see Perrie and Jade standing next to him. He takes a pull from his beer. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at him all night,” Perrie says, to which Zayn just responds with another sip of his drink. 

“You should tell him,” Jade says. “Just grab him by the shoulder and kiss his--”

“I mean, he knows. It’s just…” his beer is running out and he’s not sure if he’s drunk enough to have this conversation. “He’s leaving at the end of the summer.”

“Well, then, ask him to stay,” Jade says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Get him to be in your entourage or whatever.”

Zayn’s forehead wrinkles, because he’s definitely not drunk enough for this conversation. “It’s Niall. He’s gonna want to earn it. I can’t just pay him to stay out here. He needs to do it for himself.”

“He earned you,” Perrie tells him quietly, squeezing his wrist gently, and he turns to her as she smiles. “We both know how hard that is.”

-

Zayn has a two week promo tour around the East Coast, and even though he thinks it might be a good chance to get away from Niall and how confused he is about what they’re doing, being away from him only makes it worse. He spent so long thinking he couldn’t do this without Niall, and even though now he knows he can, he starts to wonder if he even wants to. A day full of interviews sucks no matter what, but it’s a lot less miserable when instead of going home to an empty hotel room, he gets to hear all about the pop-punk band filled with barely legal brats that are wreaking havoc at the studio. He wants to let Niall know how much he needs him, how much he makes all this all worth it; Zayn just hasn’t quite figured out how to get the words right yet.

He gets back to his hotel one night and opens his phone to find a bunch of texts from Niall, the last of which say:

_Went to the pet store cuz I wanted to surprise ya with a puppy when you get back ! but they all had dumb names so i’m gonna try a diff store tomorrow_

_wait i guess i just ruined the surprise hahahaha_

Zayn smiles at his phone for awhile, and before he can stop himself, he sends a text, and then throw his phone down on the bed.

_i miss you_

He only has to wait a few minutes before he feels his phone vibrating beneath the sheets.

_miss you too_

-

Zayn’s able to get an earlier flight out of New York, and he takes it because he’s sick of sleeping in unfamiliar beds, surrounded by all these people on the label he barely knows. He thinks about texting Niall to let him know he’ll be home sooner, but instead decides it might be fun to surprise him instead. He expects Niall to meet him in the garage as soon as he hears the door opening, but once Zayn gets in looks around, he realizes Niall isn’t home.

He thinks about texting him, but ends up falling asleep on the couch waiting for him instead. He only wakes up when he hears fumbling at the door for a lot longer than is probably necessary. He’s still barely conscious when Niall stomps in the room, flicking on all the lights. 

“Zayn?” exclaims Niall, who is… drunk. Very drunk. “Thought you weren’t back til tomorrow?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Zayn admits sheepishly, still blinking awake. This whole idea sounds so stupid now. 

“You should’ve texted me, you could’ve come out with us,” Niall tells him, but it’s slurred and verging on incomprehensible.

“Where were you?”

“Um,” Niall starts, but he’s rubbing at his eyes and Zayn sees how glassy they are and realizes he’s probably just as sleepy as he is, so he gets up from the couch.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

Niall just nods, and Zayn follows him up the stairs, when Niall stops suddenly to turn and smile at him. “I’m really glad your back.”

“Yeah, me too,” Zayn tells him, and then keeps pushing him up the stairs. 

Niall manages to get half way up before before he turns and corners Zayn against the railing. “Wish you could’ve come out with us, Z.”

Zayn lets out an uncomfortable laugh and looks down. “’ho's ‘us’, anyway?” he asks

“Um, Louis... and... work people…” Niall slurs, and while he’s distracted trying to remember names, Zayn’s finally able to grab onto his wrist and pull him up the rest of the stairs. 

When they finally get upstairs, Niall flops down onto the bed and it’s quiet for a few moments, and Zayn thinks Niall’s passed out or maybe died from alcohol poisoning, but then,

“Zayn, do you think I’m funny?”

“Of course, everyone thinks you’re funny.”

“Yeah, but…. you don’t think everyone is funny.”

“Okay,” Zayn responds, not sure where this is going. He considers this for a few moments, then says, “Good night, Niall” quietly as he leaves.

“Night, Zayn.”

_Track 10_

When Rolling Stone calls and asks to do an interview and wants it in a space Zayn will “feel comfortable” in, he doesn’t realize what a mess he makes when he tells them they can do it at his house.

He sits across from the interviewer at his kitchen table, discussing his upbringing and his time on the X-Factor, when Niall, dressed in sweats, eyes still swept with sleep, stumbles in. He sees what’s happening and raises his eyebrows in alarm, about to go sneak back out, but Zayn waves him, introduces him to the interviewer, and Niall hurries into the kitchen to make some coffee.

The interview turns to his song writing process, and Zayn can hear Niall banging around in the kitchen, wonders if Niall can hear what they’re talking about in here.

“So, would you say your album is autobiographical?”

Zayn hears a cabinet shut and drawer open. He scratches at his chin. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

The interviewer gestures at him to continue, and Zayn bites his lip. “I mean, I write about what’s going on in my life, and I had this break-up happen and it’s all I could really think about for awhile. So everything on that album is how I felt at the time.”

There’s a pause, and Zayn hears the refrigerator shut. He exhales.

“Has the person it’s about heard it?”

Zayn nods and listens as another cabinet opens.

“Were you hoping to change their mind?” the interviewer asks, smiling like it’s a joke, like he doesn’t expect a real answer.

So Zayn doesn’t have to answer. He could just smile and shrug and move onto the next question. He could lie and say no. He could do a million different things that would keep the uneasy equilibrium he and Niall have found stable. But instead he smirks and says, “Still sort of hoping to change their mind.” 

There’s no sound from the kitchen. 

When Niall leaves a few minutes later, he doesn’t look at either of them.

The interview ends, and Zayn makes his way up the stairs one by one. 

He knocks at Niall’s door and he opens it just enough to show his face, making no move to open it farther or invite Zayn in.

“You know I’m leaving at the end of the summer.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you keep doing stuff like that?”

Zayn leans against the door frame and plays with a piece of peeling paint. “Tell me you don’t feel the same and I’ll stop.”

Niall is silent for a few moments. “No.”

“No, you don’t feel the same way?” Zayn asks. He hadn’t been prepared for the thought that Niall might actually feel differently, that he was totally fine with the current status of their relationship.

Niall shakes his head, crumbling before him. “No, it’s that… I can’t say _that._ ” Zayn can see his resolve fading. 

“Then stay,” Zayn murmurs, wants to reach out to him and let him feel all the things he can’t say. 

Niall straightens up again and looks him straight in the eye. “I’m not going to quit school to be your, like, groupie or whatever.” 

“Niall, it wouldn’t be like that--”

“Maybe not to you,” Niall says, and he shuts the door.

-

Zayn drives to Louis’ house and after three hours, they come up with a plan.

_Track 11_

When he comes home, Niall’s sitting in front of the TV, eating cereal for dinner.

He doesn’t even glance up at Zayn. “Hey.”

Zayn sits on the couch on the other side of the room. “So I was just talking to Louis.”

Niall doesn’t look away from the TV. “Okay.”

“They’re talking about me doing a world tour.”

Niall slurps some Trix off his spoon. “Oh.”

“Well, it’d be, like, 5 countries, so not really the world, but you know. All around the US, too.”

“How long would it be for?” Niall asks, still not looking away from the TV, but Zayn’s just happy they’ve moved past one word responses

“Six months, maybe longer if ticket sales go well.”

“Wow, sounds awesome,” he says, his tone conveying the complete opposite. 

“I want you to come with me.”

Niall slams the bowl back on the table, and finally looks at Zayn for the first time since he’s come in. “How many times are we going to--”

“I want you to play guitar for me.”

Niall’s silent for a moment before laughing a bit, leaning back against the couch. “Do you know how hard it was when you left?” he asks quietly. Zayn just sits quietly and listens. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Still don’t, really.”

“Liam made it seem like you were living it up.”

Niall looks over at him and grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You leave a pretty hard void to fill, Malik.”

“You know, this whole thing kind of sucks too when you’re not around,” Zayn tells him, but Niall frowns. 

“There’re so many more talented people out here than me, though, and I mean look at all the people you already have, Louis and Harry and Perrie and all of them…”

Zayn thinks for a minute, wants to make sure he gets this right. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? There’re plenty of other people it could be, who could play guitar or I could be with and, you know, it would be fine. And I’d be happy, I guess, and you’d go find someone too and it’d be the same thing. You pick someone else and you’re happy too and it’s fine but. I don’t want to do that. I want to do this. I want it to be you. And I want you to pick this.” 

Niall closes his eyes for a minute, and then he’s getting up, and he’s walking towards the couch, and Zayn’s not really sure what’s happening until Niall’s hovering over him, his knees around Zayn’s thighs. Zayn looks up at him, face inches from his, and Zayn asks, “Yeah?”

Niall moves in closer, just a fraction, so Zayn can feel his breath ghost over his lips when he answers with, “Yeah.”

The thousand times Zayn had imagined this over the last months had been frantic and hurried, kissing as a precursor to everything else, stripping off clothes quickly to get to what they really wanted to do, to make up for all their lost time.

But instead when Niall kisses him, finally, it’s gentle and unrushed, and Zayn strains forward to catch it, but then Niall’s hands come up, reaching up against his cheeks to hold him in place, so Zayn relaxes against the couch. He brings his hands up to Niall’s waist, rubbing circles against his hip bones, afraid to press too hard too soon.

But he gets a little braver for a moment and swipes his tongue against Niall’s teeth, just to see what it feels like now, and Niall laugh’s against his mouth, Zayn can feel the vibration against his chest. It sets something off inside of him, bright and hot, and he slides so he’s lying down on the couch, Niall still kneeling over him. Zayn pulls him down to him, starts nipping at his neck.

“Gonna have so much beard burn tomorrow,” Niall bemoans, but when Zayn pulls away, he’s grinning, and Zayn leans back on his elbows. He kind of likes the thought of Niall’s face red and raw tomorrow, tingling and only being able to think of Zayn.

“At least I can grow one,” Zayn tells him with a laugh, leaning up to kiss him again, before going back down.

Niall pouts for a moment, pulling down the collar on his tank top. “But look at all the chest hair I’ve managed to get,” he boasts, and Zayn sits up to inspect it, before pulling off Niall’s shirt entirely. He starts kissing down his chest, giving his nipple a quick squeeze, until he reaches the top of Niall’s shorts. He looks up at him, mouth not moving from his skin, and feels Niall thread his fingers through his hair.

“Think we should go upstairs,” Niall murmurs, and Zayn bites down to show his agreement.

-

Zayn had kind of thought the whole thing would be like riding a bike: once you learn how to do it, you never really forget. But there’re a lot of awkward adjustments to be made, getting used to the way their bodies fit together. Niall’s uncharacteristically quiet as he puts the lube on his fingers and steadies himself between Zayn’s legs, and he looks up at him before he puts his first finger in. “You ready?”

“Niall, I’ve wanted you to fuck me for months, yes, I’m ready.”

Niall breaks out into a grin and the tenseness in the room loosens instantly, everything feeling much more familiar. Maybe Niall’s fingers are little more calloused as he runs his hand down Zayn’s chest, but the way he’s whispering into Zayn’s ear, the way he bites his lip then his eyes flutter closed as Zayn grabs a hold of his dick, the way he gets inside Zayn and he raises his arms and yells, “High five!” that makes it hard for Zayn to remember a time they weren’t doing this. Instead of just high-fiving him, Zayn claps their hands together, intertwines their fingers and pulls Niall close so he can kiss him full on and hard because he realizes this is it, and it has been all along.

-

The next morning, Zayn wakes up to an empty bed and panics only slightly. He pulls on a pair of boxers and his glasses and skips down the stairs to find Niall scrambling eggs. He turns and grins. “Cute glasses.”

But instead of whacking him with a pile of mail, Zayn hurries to him, grabs his waist and kisses him hard. Niall starts to pull away and Zayn retreats, thinking he needs to slow things down, mutters a “Sorry.”

Niall laughs, leaning over to turn off the stove. “Just didn’t want the eggs to burn,” he explains as he hoists himself on the countertop and gestures for Zayn to come back. Zayn goes between Niall’s legs, and Niall wraps his feet around Zayn’s thighs while he pulls Zayn’s glasses off with both hands. He grabs Zayn’s chin and pulls him forward, slots their lips together and wraps his arms around his neck, bringing them closer. 

It’s Zayn who breaks them apart this time, murmuring, “I have a meeting in a half hour” into Niall’s neck while rubbing his hands up and down his thighs.

“Don’t go.”

“Louis will murder me,” Zayn tells him.

“He’s probably going to murder you for that, too,” Niall says while poking at a hickey high on Zayn’s chest.

Zayn looks down, “Shit,” and then back up at Niall. “Do you think I can cover it up?”

Niall grins and leans forward to suck on Zayn’s neck, right below his jaw, where it has no chance of being hidden.

  
_Track 12_ \- 3 Months Later

“Are you all packed and everything?” Liam asks as he looks into the empty popcorn bag and frowns. He’s sitting on the floor of their living room, having smoked hours ago, the remnants of their high almost gone.

“Yeah. Well, I have, I dunno about you,” Niall answers, looking up at Zayn from where he’s resting his head in his lap. 

Zayn lets out a mix between a sigh and grunt and runs a hand through Niall’s hair instead of properly answering. 

“Are you gonna miss it here? Six months is a long time,” Liam asks as he finds one remaining pretzel in the bowl and fishes it out to show off in victory.

Zayn shrugs. “Gonna miss this house. Gonna miss the people. Louis's staying back because he just signed some new band, and the girls are recording, gonna miss them.”

“I still wish we could’ve seen your sets at the bar,” Liam laments, and Zayn’s raises his head off the back of the couch.

“Let’s go now.”

Niall sits up in surprise. “What?”

“It’s Friday, yeah? Let’s go now, we still have an hour left.”

“Christ, how are you still stoned?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just think how fun it will be, like a last hurrah before we leave?”

Niall’s smiling at him, already on board. “Harry will be able to get us on?”

“Yeah, definitely. Niall, bring your guitar.”

-

They text Perrie on the way there, and when they enter, it’s less crowded than usual, which is probably a good thing. They make there way to the bar. Harry does a double take when he sees them.

“I thought you were on tour!”

“Don’t leave til tomorrow,” Zayn grins. “Think you can get us on?”

Harry shakes his head in disbelief, but then walks in the back to talk to somebody.

“You’re on next,” he tells them when he comes out, and they look over to see an empty stage. 

Niall and Zayn make their way over, and he can hear the gasps and whispers as they take the stage. As they get settled, Niall leans forward to whisper “Shit, Zayn, what are we playing?”

“I don’t know, just play something,” Zayn tells him, and Niall starts strumming one of his songs, and Zayn smiles.

He can see the camera phones in the crowd, can see Liam giving them a thumbs up from the back, looks back to see Niall tapping his foot to the beat, strumming and smiling at him, bright as ever, so Zayn looks forward and he sings.

Halfway through their second song, the girls walk in and give loud cheers as they find seats. 

When they finish their last song, the bar’s significantly more crowded than when they walked in, and Zayn spots Louis in the corner, arms crossed, looking mad, but mostly just because he didn’t come up with the idea in the first place. 

They leave the stage to loud applause, and there are a lot of compliments as they fight their way through the crowd, but Zayn grabs Niall’s hand behind him and doesn’t let go until they're squeezed safely in the middle of a table in the back corner, with Liam and Louis on one side of them and the girls on the other. Harry comes over with a bunch of drinks, and Zayn thinks Louis might be yelling at him, and Perrie’s trying to talk over him to give Niall some pointers, and there’s a lot of yelling and laughing going on. Zayn feels hot and sticky and exhausted and happy. Then he feels Niall’s hand in his own under the table, threading their fingers together, and when he looks over at him, Niall raises his eyebrows as if to say, _Can you believe any of this?_

And when Zayn leans over to kiss him, quickly and quietly, it’s to say, _No, and I don’t think I ever will._


End file.
